The Archer
by Hecticality
Summary: Face/Amy romance/action. Post Season 5.   "You're dead," she said slowly. Face shrugged. "Well, you can't believe everything Tawnia tells you, you know." The A-Team bursts back into Amy Allen's life bringing danger and complications in their wake.
1. Little Lies

_TITLE: The Archer _

_AUTHOR: hectical_

_RATING: Rated M for one awkward almost sex scene._

_SUMMARY: Face/Amy romance/action. Post Season 5. __"You're dead," she said slowly. Face shrugged. "Well, you can't believe everything Tawnia tells you, you know." The A-Team bursts back into Amy Allen's life bringing danger and complications in their wake._

_DISCLAIMER: Written for pleasure, no profit gained, The A-Team and associated concepts and characters are not my intellectual property, I'm just a big 80s nerd and Steven J Cannell is my god. You know, the usual._

**Little Lies**

"Amy Allen is dead." Stockwell's voice was calm, dispassionate. He had tracked them down and joined them for lunch – or rather, simply arranged to be where he knew they would be. Peck and Murdock together. From what he knew, these two would be the greatest influences over Smith accepting the work he needed them for. "She was killed in a professional hit in her apartment in Jakarta yesterday."

"What?" Murdock almost leapt out of his seat.

"Amy's dead?" Peck asked, his voice slightly unsteady. "But…"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, gentlemen. When I heard the news, I felt I should find you and let you know. As a friend."

Murdock was sitting ramrod straight in his chair in the tiny deli diner, his pastrami bagel all but forgotten on its small white plate. Beside him Peck had frozen, his face open and his expression quickly covered up as his fingers curled around a sweating glass of ice water. Stockwell was rather pleased by how his tactics had worked. Carla's in depth research had paid off again. She had suspected that something may have occurred between the reporter and Templeton Peck prior to her departure and suggested that her current predicament may be the leverage he needed to get the A-Team involved. Stockwell made a mental note to keep a closer eye on that woman's intelligence gathering skills.

"As a friend?" Murdock said, his eyes narrow and shrewd. "You ain't no friend."

Stockwell did not reply. Instead he sipped at his glass of mineral water.

"He's lying." Peck said sharply, regaining his composure. He shook his head. "He's lying to us. Why?"

Stockwell nodded once, graciously, to him. "Yes. I am indeed lying. Or, rather, simply pre-empting."

"Pre-empting?" Peck sounded angry. Once again, Stockwell was pleased.

"Yes. If you don't act to prevent it, I won't be lying when I break the news to you again in seventy two hours. Your friend Miss Allen will be dead."

Peck sat back in his seat. "What do you want? We don't work for you anymore, Stockwell."

Again, Stockwell nodded. "True. But I'm hoping that the chance to rescue the lovely Miss Allen will prove enough incentive to at least hear my request." He finished his mineral water. "Please ask Colonel Smith to meet me here tonight at six pm. I will give you all the information you will need then. Tell him to consider it a favour."

"To who?" Murdock asked bitterly. Stockwell simply shrugged. He left the diner, pausing to look back at the two men he'd left behind him. Murdock was talking low and fast. Peck had his elbows on the table, face guarded. Hunt Stockwell turned his face into the sunshine and walked away.

His carphone shrilled a little while later. It was Able Nine, who had spent the last twenty minutes crouched in the back of a surveillance van.

"It's Nine, sir. They've contacted Smith, arranged the meet."

"Excellent. Arrange their transport to Indonesia, departure eight pm tonight."

Hannibal studied the lines on his lieutenant's face with a growing air of awareness. Face was not sleeping. The others slept, or tried to, in various positions in the airplane seats around them. BA had, to Hannibal's surprise, managed to board the plane under his own steam but had succumbed first to panic and then to knock out drops as soon as the engines spooled into motion. The stewardess had come past a little while ago and topped up drinks, handed out airline blankets and small flat pillows before the lights dimmed. Stockwell had not sprung for private transportation, but had at least not made them fly coach all the way to Jakarta.

Hannibal was not sleeping either.

He had accepted a glass of rather ordinary whisky from the stewardess' cart and it burned in a familiar sort of way as he contemplated Templeton Peck. It was a risky business, he thought, trying to navigate those particular murky waters, and they had become murkier in the last twelve hours. Hannibal considered his lieutenant's weakness: Face was always _needing_ something, a weapon, a nice suit, a country club membership, a woman to tell him she loved him… always something Hannibal couldn't supply. Not that it mattered. Face had a way of getting almost everything he needed. His expression as he stared out the window into nothing but darkness and his own reflection was set and impenetrable, but Hannibal figured that he might have an idea of what was going on behind it.

"Amy Allen will die if you don't get involved in this, Smith," Stockwell had said in that way he had of pronouncing words as if they were passages from a Tennessee Williams play. "I need your connection, your civilian status."

"And Amy is the perfect leverage," Hannibal had replied distastefully. Stockwell had him, and he knew it. There was no way he could refuse. For a moment he felt physically nauseated. "What's the rest of the story, Stockwell? There's more going on here."

Stockwell splayed his fingers across the scarred formica tabletop in the corner booth of the deli, which was starting to close down around them. He looked shrewdly at Hannibal from behind his tinted glasses.

"Your part is small compared to the rest of this operation," he began. "As is Miss Allen's. In someone else's hands, she could be made useful as an unfortunate casualty, a martyr to the war against organized crime. I have considered this course of action to be… unhelpful."

Hannibal felt, rather than saw, the others become tense around him.

"Yeah, you're a real hero," Face said softly. He was seated to Hannibal's right as usual, and hadn't spoken before this.

"Don't sing my praises yet, Peck," Stockwell said without a trace of irony. "I make this consideration because we can't afford any sort of publicity to be attached to this operation. The death of a journalist is exactly what we don't need."

Hannibal bit back his first choice of reply. "Sounds like a tricky situation."

"I need this to run quickly and quietly. There are," and here he paused and looked at Hannibal with a small smile, "significant political interests at stake. The potential for damage to diplomatic relations between the USA and Indonesia must be contained, especially in the current international climate."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you deal with countries like – " Murdock began.

"It's not… _their_ involvement that needs to be contained, Mister Murdock. Some unwise decisions have been made by certain parties that need to be reversed," Stockwell replied, holding up a hand. "The Indonesian government is not involved or aware and I wish to keep it that way."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

"And you think Amy has the evidence you need to take down this crime group before they get established?"

"And disappear," Stockwell said with a single slow nod. "They are at a crucial point right now on these shores. One debilitating blow and they crumble. I need you to give me the ammunition for that blow. Regardless, evidence or not, my sources have confirmed that the price on her head is real, and high enough that all sorts of takers will try for it." He leaned forward. "What sort of price would you put on her head, Smith?"

Hannibal grabbed Face's knee under the table when he felt the younger man tense. He risked a glance. Face wore a grim expression that Hannibal had seen only rarely.

"That's a low blow, Stockwell, considering you know we can't refuse you."

Stockwell didn't reply. He produced a large manila envelope from his briefcase and laid it on the table.

"All the intel we have at the current time."

Hannibal looked at his team. BA and Murdock stood together behind him, faces set and watchful. Face was still grim and looked back at Hannibal with a kind of question across his handsome features.

After the cabin lights were dimmed, Hannibal lifted himself out of his seat and crossed the aisle to the empty seat beside Face.

"This seat taken, mister?" he asked quietly, gesturing with his glass of whisky. Face looked up at him, obviously broken out of a train of thought, and smiled.

"Sure, sit, sit." He sat up straighter as Hannibal settled in beside him.

"Can't sleep?" the older man asked. Face shook his head.

"Nah. Not really. You neither?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Your loud brooding is keeping me awake. Want to quiet down a little?"

Face looked surprised, then relaxed his face and closed his eyes, leaning back into his headrest.

"Better?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Not really. What's bothering you?"

Face didn't open his eyes. "Nothing. I just… found some grey hairs this morning is all."

"We'll get her out, Face. We'd do the same for any old friend." Hannibal was watchful, observing every shimmer of expression that crossed his friend's face. "I wonder what she's doing now, our Miss Allen."

Face didn't reply. Hannibal sat back.

"There lies complications, Lieutenant," he said softly.

Face smiled his salesman's smile at Hannibal, who didn't buy it for a second. "It's not like that. You know, Colonel, our old friend, the intrepid Miss Allen in trouble. That's all."

Hannibal regarded the younger man with intense misgivings.

"Alright then." He glanced back at his seat. "Do you mind if I stay here? BA's passed out in the seat behind me and he snores."

Face nodded and closed his eyes. Hannibal watched him for a while, then pulled up his blanket and did the same.


	2. Arjuna Wijaya

**Chapter One: Arjuna Wijaya**

As time in Jakarta ticked over into August 18, 1988, Amy Allen found herself alone, sitting on the edge of a man made pool, and staring at his face again. It was beautiful, carved and perfect, atop a slim, powerful torso, hair swept back by the motion of his flight. It seemed to her that he was most lovely at night, lit by a few spots and streetlights, oblique and absent from solid reality, the inhabitor of a dreamscape that was crowded with spattered fireworks and knots of celebration. She considered how he looked like he was about to spring into motion: Arjuna, the deadly archer, accompanied by his trusted companion Krishna, mounted on their chariot and rushing headlong into another battle for the side of good. It was her favourite fountain because he was atop it.

"I got a front page, again," she whispered to him. "You'd love it. All about private businessmen and organized crime investing in a fundamentalist terrorist group. Hard stuff. I'm surprised I didn't find you at the bottom of it somewhere, selling real estate to Saleh himself. Except you're dead, of course." She stood up and hugged herself. "I wish you were here." Any of them, to be honest. A sure hand to help her feel safer. Her phone had rung late last night five times, with no one on the other end. Each time it did, the picture she held tightly in her mind got stronger, a vision of him arriving on her doorstep, smile wide and white, eyes flashing, mouth saying all the things she imagined him saying, hand outstretched to whisk her away. She swallowed that thought. She was tough enough to handle herself. She didn't need a Prince Charming. Or want one. Except… the longer she was here, the deeper she got, the lonelier she felt, the more she couldn't stop thinking of… The more she chastised herself for foolishness.

A small knot of people pushed past her, laughing and talking among themselves in a mixture of Indonesian and American accents. A tall, slim man brushed her arm and steadied her quickly as she stumbled a little. "Sorry," he muttered, not looking at her, and kept walking. That profile, that voice sounded like… Disconcerted, she peered after him, trying to see him in the small crowd, trying to see if it really was him. But he was gone, the people were rounding the corner ahead. It couldn't have been him. He was dead, haunting her like a ghost, and she knew it. Seeing his face everywhere was only going to drive her mad. She turned back to Arjuna and Krishna and sighed. What was with this weird melancholy tonight? Some belated fireworks exploded across the city's neon skyline, splattering the statue's face with red. She looked away.

"Hey Amy!" Richard's cry pulled her away from Arjuna's cold features and back into the crowds of Jakarta at midnight on Indonesian National Day. The pavement was warm under her bare feet – her strappy blue heels dangled from her left hand as her right trailed into the water at the base of the statue. Richard Ramelan was approaching with Atin and Chokro Setiawan. They cheered and waved tipsily when they spotted her and she had to smile.

"I thought I'd find you here by this thing," Richard said, grinning. He was a tall, good looking Indonesian, an Eton educated businessman she had met while researching her last story. She had been attracted to him from the first time they met. He was charming, wealthy, and had worked concertedly to get her to agree to go to dinner with him. They had spent a good many evenings together since. A few weeks ago they'd gone to dinner and she'd let him stay for breakfast – and a few times since then. She liked him a lot. She thought maybe she might love him, given enough time. She knew that she couldn't feel that way for him right now - but he was nice to have around. She smiled at him and allowed him to kiss her soundly with warm, wet lips and a lingering embrace.

"Hi Amy!" Atin, a copy writer whose desk butted into Amy's in the newsroom, grinned at her happily, her arm firmly twined through her husband's. "Look who we found! Richard is here too, back from his business trip!" Amy felt an unexpected twinge at the sight of them, but hugged Atin in greeting, and squeaked when Chokro, her police detective husband, who was also Amy's main police contact, wrapped his arms around both of them, singing loudly. Atin swatted him away, laughing. "Don't mind my oaf of a husband. A bunch of us are going on to the Simba Club, Amy, and you are coming along with us! You must celebrate our national day, and your front page feature!"

"Yes, come on, Amy. Don't spend this evening unhappy and moping," Richard said in her ear, his breath warm on her neck. "I came back from my trip early to see you." She swallowed and glanced back up at Arjuna's face, calm and distant.

"I think you are in love with a statue!" Atin giggled, prodding her friend's arm playfully. "Come on, it's not like he's going to come to life again and sweep you away!"

Amy swallowed again and managed a smile. "No, no I guess not. It's just a silly statue I like."

Richard grabbed her elbow and the group began to move forward, away from the statue, propelling her on. "Well, leave your lover here and come and party with us," he said, ending with a cheer, echoed by their companions. "Madam Front Page! Queen of Investigation!"

Amy didn't look back, and worked on forgetting the sensations awakened by the fleeting touch of the American stranger.

The Simba Club was crowded, unusually so, and the neon lighting scheme rippled across the walls in time to the pounding beat of the party music. Amy sipped her drink and hung back, by the bar, avoiding the crush of the dance floor. The Simba attracted a heavy western crowd, and most of the conversation here was in accented English.

"I'm telling you Jerry," one man to her left was shouting over the crowd in a broad Australian accent. "This fella says it's a sure thing. A flawless investment in the Hollywood scene. Exactly what we need. He's this producer, see, and he's making this monster movie… Another round, Jerry?" Amy craned her neck to see the speaker but he was moving away toward the other end of the bar. His companion, Jerry, was a stocky man with greying hair and bushy eyebrows, looking slightly the worse for wear with a disheveled shirt and crooked tie, and a tired expression. Amy edged over to him, turning her face away from Richard, who was staring at her from the edge of the dancefloor.

"Excuse me," she said loudly, tapping Jerry on the shoulder. He turned, his expression brightening when he took in the lovely woman standing beside him.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" he asked, moving aside to make room for her in the crowd. He also spoke in a broad Australian accent.

"I couldn't help overhearing your friend mentioning someone looking for investment in a monster movie in Hollywood?"

Jerry raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Looking for a `sure thing', darl? I wouldn't go for this deal then. I work in investments, stocks, other people's money, and I wouldn't put my own near this galah, let alone anyone else's." He sounded dubious and amused. "But why is a pretty girl like you asking about that sort of thing?"

"I'm a reporter, a foreign correspondent from LA. The story sounds familiar, that's all. Like something I've covered in the past," she lied, hating herself for the tight, small, edge of desperation in her chest.

Jerry grunted. "Probably a fraud case then", he replied, and laughed. "If you feel like investing in something, here's my card. Call me for a better bet than this flop. Here. Allied Asia Investment. Been working there for a few years."

Amy smiled at him and took the business card. "What's this phoney's name then? Not… Peck? Or Smith?"

Jerry shook his head emphatically. Amy felt herself come down, the desperation turn to disgust. Why did she keep doing this? Tawnia had sent her word, and she had grieved and moved on. She knew that one day it would end like that. Oh, there were a few uncertain rumours that she could track down, but as soon as one surfaced, it disappeared, replaced by another report confirming their deaths. She'd even tried to find Murdock, but he'd vanished, discharged and gone. She'd admitted defeat. But lately… Maybe it was just delayed grief. Or a hangover. Or a defence against the real world, against Richard. She should go and dance with Richard and start fresh again. If she looked deeper, she'd see it wasn't anything real, this obsession, just a memory to cling to, and stay up at night with sometimes. Just some unfinished business. She smiled brightly at Jerry.

"Well, thanks anyway. Here's your friend coming back with your drinks. And I should find my friends and their drinks, I think."

Jerry returned her smile with a nod. "Hey, no problem, Miss…"

"Allen. Amy Allen. Nice to meet you."

Jerry's companion pushed toward them and handed Jerry his drink. "Jerry, there's someone here you should probably… Oh, company," he remarked, giving Amy an appreciative glance and grin. She enjoyed the appraisal, she had to admit. It reminded her she was still alive. Jerry turned to his friend.

"This is Miss Amy Allen, reporter for the LA Times, "Jerry said, gesturing to Amy, with a suddenly wide smile. "Hey, Hal, what's the name of that fella, the one looking for movie investors?"

Hal frowned for a moment, and Amy prepared to step away from them.

"Uh… Brenner. Alvin Brenner. Yeah, that's it."

Amy froze and stared at the two men. After a moment, Jerry handed Hal his drink and reached out to take her arm. "Miss Allen, are you okay?"

She shook herself mentally and blinked at him. "Brenner? Are you sure? Tall, good-looking guy?" She didn't feel like she could talk loudly enough to be heard over the music. Hal nodded.

"Yeah, if you like that sort of thing. He's looking for money to make some monster movie. You know, the old kind with some guy in a latex mask terrorizing teens." He shrugged. "Reckon he's gone now anyway. Said he was flying back to Hollywood this morning."

Amy suddenly couldn't breathe, and pushed out of Jerry's grasp. "Thank you, Jerry, Hal, I need to go now." She pushed away from them, through the crowd, feeling something spinning loose inside her. She reached Atin and Chokro. Chokro looked up enquiringly, then frowned.

"Amy? You're crying! What's wrong? What's happened?"

Amy, who was unaware and mortified that the tears had managed to overflow in public, shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I just… got a shock. I'm going home." All the way home, she added mentally, calculating how soon she could catch a flight back to LA. Atin's brow creased deeply and she shook her head.

"No, we will go with you. Make sure you are okay." Beside her, Chokro nodded intently. Amy relented. She wouldn't be able to shake them if they had decided to accompany her, and she should probably have the company anyway. She nodded.

"Who's leaving? Amy, sweetheart, what happened?" came Richard's voice beside them. He reached for Amy's arm and looked at her closely.

"We're seeing Amy home," Chokro said, handing Atin her handbag and reaching out to squeeze Amy's shoulder kindly.

"I'll go with her," Richard said quickly. "Enjoy the party. Stay."

Atin looked to Amy, who shrugged, acquiescent to nearly anything that would get her out of this club and into the air where she could clear her head, grateful for Richard's company.

Chokro looked like he was about to say something, but stayed silent.

"Come on then," Amy said, and tugged Richard toward the door and out into the night. The air was warm and slightly humid, and smelled, as always, of car exhaust and old food. Not all that different to LA, Amy guessed. She'd have to call the paper, give them her excuses, say anything at all to get away. To find out if… Face was alive? To try to find Murdock, yet again? If anyone could somehow survive a firing squad, it'd be Face, Hannibal and BA Baracus, she thought with a hope she hadn't felt since she'd hit the denial stage of her grief last year.

"Now", Richard said, pulling her out of her thoughts for the second time that night. "What is wrong?" He slipped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her onto the pavement and along the sidewalk, past darkened buildings and still lit neon signs. The street was quiet once they left the muffled beat of the clubs and restaurants a block behind them.

"Nothing… I just… Just thinking about the story. You remember I told you last week I'm going back over the Singapore incident again. Looking for more background." She shot him a dazzling if unconvincing smile. "You distracted me from that lead, as I recall."

"I thought you told me you dropped that angle. For good." His voice was flat and unimpressed. Given his involvement in that particular story, Amy couldn't blame him for feeling that way. That was why she hadn't told him she'd begun looking into it again last week.

"It's just a thought, that's all. Something to follow up on my story about the Saleh donations and the White Snakes."

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "I don't believe you. Tell me the truth, Madam Reporter." He raised his eyebrows at her in mock anger. She sighed.

"You're right. I just… Heard a name I haven't heard in a while. Someone I thought was gone for good."

"Ah," Richard replied. "Your American boyfriend."

"Huh?" Amy was at a loss. Her hand went to her purse and closed over the business card there. She'd be able to start tomorrow, call Jerry, see if he knew how to contact… Alvin Brenner. Who could be someone completely different, she reminded herself brutally. She looked up at Richard. "I don't have an American boyfriend."

"The one you left behind, this Peck man," he went on. "Or perhaps another man in this A-Team you always talk about."

She shook her head. "We were never… involved."

Richard looked at her pointedly. "But?"

Amy shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, it's one of the reasons I pushed for this correspondent position. And I can't believe I'm telling you this, by the way. This doesn't go anywhere, okay?"

Richard nodded. Who would he tell?

"Face and I, well, we… had a thing. A fling. Secretly, I guess. I hope." She sighed. "It was complicated, you know? I guess we actually did like each other. At least…"

"You loved him?" Richard supplied, shifting his arm to take her hand. She nodded.

"_Liked_ him… It was out of character. He was like no one I'd go for normally. Doomed to fail miserably, of course. It was just the closeness of the situations we were in all the time. Really. I told him I… might have liked him as more than… and he, well…"

"Refused you?"

"No, the opposite. He kissed me. I mean," she hastily corrected herself, "he'd kissed me before, on jobs, for cover. Nothing special. This one was different… _Then_ he refused me. It was all downhill from there. I accused him of arrogance and shallowness, he accused me of stupidity and being too emotional, and, well, it was all bad." She smiled ruefully. "I, of course, then ran into the arms of the first man I saw to show him how much I didn't care any more, and began to push for this Jakarta assignment. A few months later, I left altogether."

Richard smiled at her. "Then I should find this man and thank him for driving you here so I could meet you and walk you home tonight!" He tried to stop beneath a streetlight, probably for a kiss.

Amy shook her head and kept walking. "It wasn't just Face that made me leave. It was embarrassing, sure, but not destructive. I just couldn't stay. I wanted to. I missed them. But I got sick of just being Dakota Haines all the time. I wanted my own thing. It was always about getting here. Getting the stories."

Richard looked puzzled. "Dakota Haines?"

She smiled at him. "You'd love her, trust me." She sighed. "But then I heard from another friend that the authorities had finally caught up to them and…"

"Yes," Richard replied. "I know the rest. You've told me. Frequently. You still feel for him, although he is dead." He sounded disappointed. Amy stopped to face him. Time to come clean. "Richard, I know how you feel about me, but I can't – "

"Miss Allen! Miss Allen!" a man called from behind them. "Miss! Please, wait up!" Amy heard two sets of running feet and peered down the street to see who was coming after them. After a moment, Jerry and Hal came into view, puffing lightly, slowing to a walk when she spotted them. Jerry waved at her and smiled.

"Jerry?" she enquired as they reached her and Richard. "What's wrong?" He and Hal looked at each other and smiled again. Amy's instincts kicked her hard, and she began to back up, pulling at Richard's hand.

"Nice to see you again, but I need to get away home now," she stammered, looking around for possible escape points.

_Always have an escape ready, kid,_ she heard Hannibal say to her, _even if it's a window and you don't know what's on the other side. Every window is a possibility._

She looked frantically for a window – a taxi, or some cover – but nothing seemed useable. She took another step back, dragging Richard with her. Jerry and Hal said nothing, but took another step forward, hands in pockets. Richard looked from them to Amy.

"Amy? Who are these men? What's going on?" He sounded confused and Amy cursed. If she had to escape now, as her gut was screaming at her to do, it would be hard to drag him along if he dug in his heels now.

"Now, don't be too alarmed, Miss Allen," Jerry said to her. "There's some men who just want to talk to you about your story." He pulled a small revolver out of his pocket and gestured at her. "They're big fans of your work."

"Especially your recent story about Abdullah Ibn Saleh and the White Snakes," Hal supplied, producing an automatic pistol from his pocket and pressing the muzzle against Richard's side. "Compelling reporting, wouldn't you agree, mate?"

Richard, his eyes glued to Hal's face, nodded slowly. Amy swallowed her panic.

"Leave him out of it. The story means nothing to him. It's all on me. Let him go."

Jerry advanced on her, and she took another step back, releasing Richard's hand. The older man caught her and took her arm painfully, prodding her ribs with the revolver.

"The story means nothing, no. But you, probably. And that makes him vital to your cooperation. Or rather, your cooperation is vital to his survival."

"No!" Richard exclaimed, struggling weakly against Hal's grip. "I know nothing abut this! You must let me go."

Amy pursed her lips. _My hero_, she thought, then forced her mind to a state of calm and tried to think things through. _Two guys, two guns, one hostage and me. No cover, and they have the physical advantage. Not much I can do right now. Maybe I can give Richard a shot of courage at some point and I'll have an ally._ She cursed inwardly. _It'll come to Dakota Haines again, won't it? If it comes to anything, and I'm in a position to act. Unlike right now…_

"Shut up." Hal cuffed him roughly across the head and Richard ducked. "And call for help and you'll both get it."

Amy exhaled and steeled herself, trying to calm her terror. "Alright then gentlemen. Let's do this. You want to take me to talk to my adoring public, who, I have to suppose, are unhappy with my recent stories exposing them as investors in terrorism. I also have to suppose that any further investigations will also overturn whatever rock you are currently hiding under. That puts you at a disadvantage." She tried to imagine she was channeling Hannibal. _Keep them talking, keep talking, maybe they'll slip, bolsters your nerves up anyway, kid._ She made a show of peering up and down the street. "What, no backup?" She smiled at Jerry. "I feel mildly insulted, Jer."

He shook her roughly. "They weren't going to come at you til tomorrow, but you just strolled right on over, introduced yourself. It was like Christmas come early for Hal and me, really." He shook her again. "You're a valuable lady. You'll pay some debts for us, Miss Allen. Keep walking." He began to walk, his long strides forcing her to hurry to keep up in her heels. Hal prodded a quiet Richard ahead of him.

"Where are we going?" Amy asked, not expecting an answer. Jerry hesitated before answering, and that gave Amy some hope. They weren't prepared for this. That meant that at some point something might get sloppy.

"My offices. There'll be no one there tonight and it's a secure premises. Tomorrow we'll pay a visit to your fans."

Hal pushed Richard over the kerb onto the street and hailed a passing taxi. It began to slow. Amy groaned inwardly. Who could find a taxi after midnight when they wanted one? She had been counting on a long walk, full of mistakes she might take advantage of. The taxi stopped beside Hal and Richard. Hal pulled the back door open and pushed Richard inside, across the back seat to the corner. Rather than opening the other door and bolting, as Amy was silently willing him to do, Richard sat quiet and cowed. Jerry shoved Amy toward the open door and she went limp suddenly in his grip then began to push backwards.

"No! Help us, please!" she cried to the taxi driver, who appeared to take no notice at all. Jerry swore and spun her around, striking her hard across the face, sending stars spinning across her vision and her head smacking into the side of the taxi. In a daze, she stopped resisting and felt a firm hand push her into the taxi. Her head was splitting, and she thought she might be sick. Her ears were ringing and her vision was blurred. She shook her head. It would clear in a moment. Beside her, she heard Richard exclaim, "What? Who are they?" and a man shout outside the taxi. She turned, prepared to kick Jerry if he slid in next to her in the back seat, but he did not appear. Instead she saw him being dragged backward by tall, dark man, while Hal was doubled over a few paces away, another silver haired man bringing his knee up into the other man's face. The taxi door slammed shut and someone pounded on the roof once, and called "Go for it, get them away!" Amy gulped down some air, unaware she had stopped breathing, and wished her head would stop spinning so horribly_. I must be concussed_, she thought, fighting a sudden urge to throw up. A face startlingly like Murdock's grinned at her briefly from the other side of the window, then the taxi sputtered away, leaving the fight behind them in the streetlight's circle. _Absolutely delirious_, she thought, leaning back against the seat, feeling her head slowly start to clear.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking us?" Richard demanded of the taxi driver, stirring beside her. He reached across and took Amy's hand. "Amy, are you okay? He hit you. You're bleeding."

Amy pushed his hand away as he tried to examine her split lip. She was going to have one hell of a bruise in the morning. She licked her lip and tasted blood.

"Ouch. Damn it." She looked around. "Where are we going?" she demanded, reaching forward to slap at the taxi driver's head. "Stop the cab. Stop it now."

"Ow! Stop that!" the driver replied, warding off her hand and flinching away. She froze again, falling back into her seat. _That voice_… The taxi began to slow, then stop. Richard fumbled at the door handle, reaching back to grab Amy's hand again. Again, she pushed him away, her attention focused on the driver.

She felt like she'd been paralysed.

"Face?" she asked, forcing her whisper through swollen lips. She stopped breathing. Slowly, so slowly, Face turned around to face her, and grinned.

"Hiya, Amy."

She didn't reply. She began to shake her head. "Face," she said again, a statement, not a question. Face turned to Richard, who was looking horrified. He stuck out his hand, awkward over the seat back.

"Hi. Templeton Peck at your service. Also known as – "

"Alvin Brenner," Amy breathed.

"Face of the A-Team," Richard finished. His expression was unreadable. He gazed at the proffered hand like it was a snake and turned away. "Amy, come away with me now."

"You can go, Richard," Face replied genially. "I'll drive Miss Allen home."

Richard glanced across at Amy, who nodded, unable to take her eyes from Face's face. Richard glanced back at Face again, then fumbled at the door handle. He slammed the door behind him.

Amy was alone with Face. At last. Again. Unbelievably. Neither of them said anything.

Face reached over to hand her a white handkerchief. "You're bleeding," he said finally, motioning to her face. She accepted it and stared at it like she didn't know what it was. Her head was spinning again but not from the blow. She felt tears pushing at her eyes and something roiling in the pit of her stomach. She dimly heard him leave the front seat and slide in beside her.

"Here," he said softly, taking the cloth from her fingers and dabbing gently at her mouth. "Should've known you wouldn't go too quietly, huh?"

She reached up, tentatively, and touched his hand. It was warm.

"You're dead," she said slowly. He shrugged. "Well, you can't believe everything Tawnia tells you, you know." He looked abashed suddenly, and reached out to touch her cheek. She winced. "Yup," he said, peering at her jaw. "You're gonna have a helluva bruise tomorrow. You'll be able to say you won, though."

The roiling rose higher and Amy pushed his hand away, anger making her tears spill over.

"You're alive," she said. "And I thought you were dead. For two years, I thought you were dead. The others – "

"Are here too. Cleaning up your kidnappers. They'll be along."

Amy suddenly needed air, and opened the taxi door. She slid out, unsteady on her heels as she backed away from the vehicle. Face followed her out. She shook her head.

"What happened? How did you get away? What are you doing here? No, wait," she said, holding up her hand. "I don't want to hear it. I really don't. What the hell were you thinking?"

She stopped and looked around herself, and spotted a familiar profile. She looked back at Face.

"The statue? Arjuna and Krishna? Why did you bring me here?"

"The others are meeting us here," he replied, watching her carefully. "I know you like it here."

She looked at him, aghast. "You've been following me?"

He shrugged. "For the last day or so." He turned and frowned, suddenly seeming upset. "You drew a lot of attention with that story. You should be more careful, Amy. If we hadn't been following you – "

He crossed to the pool's edge and sat down, motioning her to sit beside him. She did, keeping a token distance.

"So you work for the government now?" she asked, putting two and two together. Face shook his head and smiled.

"This time. For a while, after the court martial, we didn't have a choice. But after the pardon – "

"You got pardoned?" she asked suddenly, feeling something like a smile hurting her cheek. Face nodded, and reached out to stroke her injured cheek again.

"Mhm. All signed and sealed. I'm a free man. We all are."

She didn't speak. It was easier not to speak. Amy reached over to take Face's hand and for a minute, they sat in silence. She twisted around and nodded at the statue behind them.

"I do come here. Mostly at night. Not perfectly safe, I suppose, but I don't mind. I come to see him." She pointed at Arjuna, outlined against the cityscape, bow raised and drawn, proud and dynamic. "He reminded me of someone."

"Me?" Face asked softly, sliding in very close. Amy raised her eyebrows, letting the flood of sudden intimacy do away with her sense, suddenly remembering the dance, the sensation. Then she regained control and inched backwards away from the situation.

"BA," she replied, with that cool, self-satisfied expression that he remembered so well, that grated on his nerves. "Really?" he murmured. "BA?"

"Maybe Murdock," she breathed and tried to smile at him. She winced in pain. The brittle intimacy broke apart. He pulled back.

"Sorry," he muttered, standing up and moving a few restless paces away. Amy stared hard at the concrete, her thoughts confused and her blood racing.

_Alive._

"Was that you, here, tonight? Brushed past me?"

He looked at her and nodded. "I was tailing you. Saw you with that other guy. Richard."

Amy remained silent, refusing to answer his unspoken question. He nodded again and started to pace.

Amy shivered suddenly, slightly nauseated, the shock of her near kidnap and blow to the head catching up with her. Face turned and noticed and was sitting beside her instantly.

"Hey, Amy, how are you doing? The was a good knock on the head you got."

She nodded. "I'm okay. It's just… you're alive! You're all alive, and here…"

"It's good to see you again, Amy. Really good. But you need to be more careful. You might have been hurt, if we hadn't gotten here in time..."

Amy looked at him, distracted by the serious tone in his voice. He smiled his most insincerely charming smile, put an arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. She let herself lean into him, still a little shellshocked.

A car screeched to a halt at the kerb beside them and as she turned she heard Murdock call "Boy, Faceman, waste no time, hey!" Then the lanky Texan was hauling her out of Face's arms and into his for a long, warm hug and kiss. BA's chains were pressed against her face as he wrapped huge arms around her before Hannibal held her at arm's length and regarded her merrily. "You look like hell, kid. Just as well we found you again, huh?" She put her arms around his neck and pressed her uninjured cheek to his, smelling the tang of his cigars.

"I can't believe you're here, really here!" she exclaimed, allowing BA and Murdock to hug her again delightedly, before returning to stand beside Face.

"Hey, Faceman," Murdock said, looking up at the statue, poised in flight. "Do you think that feller with the bow looks a little like you?"


	3. Watcher

**Chapter Two: Watcher  
**

The A-Team that Amy Allen woke up to in her apartment the next morning was both the same team that she remembered and a team that was vastly changed from anything familiar. She had seen that last night when they all talked at once and caught her up on what had actually happened to them before fatigue took over. There was the obvious changes, a few more lines on Hannibal's face, a few grey strands at the edges of Murdock's hair; and there were the smaller, subtler things that made her think she was watching strangers. A new edge to BA's voice, a slight weariness to Face's gestures. They all looked older, more worn – and how strange that to her they all looked so much older. In her mind they still looked like they had when she left them.

When she opened her bedroom door, carefully wrapped in her peach silk robe, face aching from last night's blow, she paused for a moment to take in the whole scene and remind her brain that this was really the old team, that the surprise of last night had actually happened. BA was making coffee in her kitchenette while Hannibal stood by her window, gazing down at the crowded street below. Face had stretched out on her couch the night before, and didn't seem to have moved, while Murdock, who had insisted that sleeping on the floor was better for his back, had moved to the arm of a chair and was chatting with Hannibal.

"But it's so… cool. Like a Rubik's Cube. Don't you think?" Murdock drawled as Amy opened her door. He looked over to her and his face broke in a large grin. He sprang up and embraced her.

"Good morning sunshine!"

Amy smiled and nodded, watching gratefully over the lanky Texan's shoulder as BA added another cup to his line-up for her.

"See Hannibal? Amy agrees with me." Murdock released her and looked intently at her. "Good choice. Nice bruise. "

"What am I agreeing with?" she asked, stepping out of his arms and taking three steps over to smell the coffee BA was brewing on her stove top.

"That the M16 assault rifle is the most interesting assault rifle," Murdock replied airily and returned to his perch on her armchair.

"Interesting in terms of actually working? Or interesting in terms of generally lousy?" Hannibal asked from the window, sounding amused. "For the first, I find a Ruger much more interesting, actually. Perhaps the M16 for the second."

"I'm with Hannibal, fool," BA contributed. "The M16 is a terrible gun. I once broke one with my hands… Hey, where's your milk? Want some ice for your face?"

Amy shrugged. She didn't have any of either. She didn't want to speak and interrupt the flow of the conversation. She had missed this.

"See, that's exactly what makes it so great!" Murdock opined. Face uttered a muffled groan and turned over, opening bleary eyes and glaring at him.

"Murdock, the M16 is embarrassing. Military issue sure, but… Even the Cong refused to strip them from the bodies in Nam. And the A2, before you say it, was no improvement. They're only good for spraying bullets around everywhere. You can forget about precision."

"Yeah, man. It's embarrassing to have enemy soldiers laughing at your weapon," BA added before Murdock could reply. "Here you go, Amy. Hope you like it black. You ain't got any milk." He sounded disapproving. "Coffee, Faceman, Hannibal."

Face voiced another, more positive sounding groan, and heaved himself off the couch. His shirt opened, revealing a scar that Amy hadn't seen before, a puckered bullet wound.

"Where'd you get that one?" she asked, pointing. He didn't look. Murdock and BA seemed to her to go pointedly quiet for a brief moment. Face shrugged.

"A lovely little Italian place. You'd love it. Great food, great ambience."

"Free fatal wound for every customer," Murdock chimed in. Face caught Amy's eye before she could process that comment and smiled ruefully, shaking his head as he buttoned his shirt. He crossed to the kitchen counter and took two cups of coffee, then joined Hannibal by the window and handed him one.

"Must be a great view from here, Colonel. Either that or there's a pretty girl on the corner down there."

Hannibal gestured. Amy went to join them. Hannibal still wore those ratty, black gloves, she noticed with a small sense of satisfaction.

"Neither pretty nor a girl," the Colonel observed, pointing briefly down at the crowded street. Amy followed his finger but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Face looked thoughtful.

"How'd they find us here?" he asked quietly.

"Probably already watching Amy's place," Hannibal replied, concentrating on whatever he was watching. "They may not even know we're here if they missed us coming in last night." He sipped his coffee, and grinned. "That's the trouble with these mercenary types. No internal memos. No sense of proper method."

"I'm being watched?" Amy asked, peering through the curtains, trying to see what Hanibal and Face were looking at. Hannibal moved in close to her and pointed over her shoulder. The tang of his cigar-scent stung her nostrils suddenly as she inhaled.

"There," Hannibal said, pointing, directing her gaze. "Blue suit, crewcut, horrible tie."

"At the kerb?"

"No, next to that vendor. The orange tie."

Amy spotted her watcher, who appeared to be doing anything but looking at her windows.

"He's not even looking this way," she said. Hannibal nodded and stepped away from her.

"He's been not looking this way for around three hours now. Trust me, kid. He's a watcher. But you aren't being bugged yet. At least, not here. BA gave this place the once over this morning."

Amy twisted around to see BA handing Murdock her sugar bowl and a spoon. The entire morning was taking on a sense of unreality now. First the Team were all alive and back, solid and smiling and drinking her coffee black, then they were telling her she was being watched by an unknown terrorist plant after sweeping her apartment for bugs?

"Boy, am I glad you guys are back," she said flatly, suddenly needing to be away from them. "I need to shower, and make some calls. At least my phone isn't bugged."

She turned away from Face and Hannibal, left her half empty coffee cup on the counter and closed her bedroom door behind her. She stood still for a moment, fighting a sudden claustrophobia that made her want to run out of her apartment.

_Calm it down, Amy. You're behaving irrationally. Yes, the guys are back, they're alive, whoopee. And yes, you are being watched. Stalked. Maybe even carry a price on your head now, after your research. You knew that, didn't you? Those phone calls, and Jerry and Hal last night. Be glad you have the A-Team on your side and wash your goddamned hair. You look a fright. _

She smiled at herself, calmer and feeling in control, and crossed to the door of her ensuite.

After her shower, she called Richard. He told her to get rid of the A-Team and join him at his apartment, that he didn't trust them. Amy laughed at him, and immediately felt bad about it. Instead she assured him she was perfectly fine and would see him in a few days. He put up no resistance and she knew his nose was probably out of joint because of Face's reappearance. The idea was attractive and she murmured affectionately to him before hanging up.

Atin wasn't answering, so she left a message, in case Richard had told her about last night's adventures.

When she emerged, dressed casually and feeling cleaner and happier, she found her apartment empty but for Hannibal, seated calmly on her couch, two handguns laying in pieces on the coffee table in front of him. He was cleaning one of them carefully with a scrap of rag and a tiny vial of oil, and didn't look up when she entered the room. Amy sat on the floor, opposite him and, after a moment's hesitation, began to clean the other gun.

"I see you haven't forgotten everything I taught you," he said after a while, watching her hesitant movements as she reassembled the weapon. "A little slow though."

She shrugged and hovered her fingers for a moment as she remembered what went where next. "Not much call for it lately. And I always preferred the dynamite, anyway."

Hannibal chuckled. "Not much call for that here either."

Amy shot him a playful smile. "You'd be surprised. Parking can be a bitch." She snapped together the last piece and handed it to Hannibal for his examination. He nodded approval and handed it back.

"Where're the guys?" she asked as he finished assembling his own weapon. He snapped a clip into place, and tossed one to her.

"They've gone out to try and outmaneuver our orange tie wearing friend. Thought you might have been feeling a bit crowded."

Amy sighed and smiled ruefully at him. "A little, I guess. Hannibal, I thought you were dead!" Hannibal reached out and patted her hand at that. He squinted at the bruise on her cheek, made a _tsk_ sound and shook his head. She pursed her lips. "And now, boom, back. And there's men watching my apartment and calling at all hours and it's like – "

"Phone calls?" Hannibal asked sharply. "You didn't mention those."

"When did I have a chance?" she asked, exasperated. "Maybe you feel like it's like the old days but I'm having a tough time putting all the pieces together again so fast." She exhaled sharply. "I thought you guys were _dead_ for two years. _Two years_, Hannibal!"

Hannibal studied the carpet for a moment, silent.

"Yeah, I know, kid."

"I kept in touch with Murdock, Hannibal, kept following your story. I even sent Christmas cards. You couldn't have told me you were here? That you weren't dead and buried?"

"We've been watching you for a few days. Didn't want to interfere until last night. Sorry about that." He looked up and twinkled at her in a way only he could manage and she shook her head, still angry but glad of his solid presence.

"I'd rather know the score, Hannibal. I can't believe you guys are alive and here. It's a shock, to have everyone back again…"

"And Face?" Hannibal asked, sounding like he was trying to be careful. Amy snapped her gaze to his face. He was intent, wearing a mild expression that gave nothing away.

"Hannibal, I'm not a member of your team any more." She kept her face as blank as his, taking refuge in mild outrage.

Hannibal gave her a small smile. "That's not what I'm worried about, kid."

She sighed and went to hand the gun back to him. He pushed her hand back.

"Keep it. You remember how to use it, I assume. You might need it before this thing plays out and we can get you out safe."

"Hannibal – "she replied, then realized what he had said. "Out? Out where? Of what?"

He looked at her directly, his tone reasonable and persuasive and certain.

"We're taking you out of this mess and back to LA until the heat dies down."

She laughed in disbelief. "You're going to rescue me from an international terrorist organization with cells in fifteen countries? Boy have your resources grown."

Hannibal didn't change his expression, although a certain amusement may have worked itself across his face. "So's your sense of self-importance, Allen."

She glared at him for a moment while she processed what he had said, then grinned a small, painful grin.

"Guess so, huh."

He nodded. "To Saleh, you're small fry. Whatever damage you could do is done and he isn't interested in retribution at this level. He has bigger fish in mind. But this local hornet's nest of money laundering and organized crime… well, this could get ugly for you if you don't get out now. These guys can really do damage."

"And you've come to rescue me?"

"Mostly." Hannibal took the handgun from her and clicked on the safety before tucking it into the waistband of her slacks and pulling her silk shirt down to conceal it. "We aim to do some damage ourselves. You're just - "

"A distraction?" she offered, shifting the gun to a more comfortable position.

He shrugged. "Our old friend, the intrepid Miss Allen." He reached out tilted her head to peer at the bruise, and shook his head. Amy reached up and batted his hand away, grinning.

"I could handle myself perfectly well, you know."

Before he could reply, the front door opened to admit Face and BA, who were dragging an unconscious man wearing an orange tie between them. Hannibal was all business.

"Report, Lieutenant."

BA dumped the stranger on the floor and stepped aside to let Murdock in behind them. Murdock closed the door and skipped over the slouched body to stand beside Hannibal. Face nodded to the man.

"Making friends with the locals. Spotted another two on the rooflines."

Hannibal looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm going to guess they know we're here."

Amy recognized him now as the man Face had pointed out to her, the one in the blue suit.

"Who is he?" she asked, looking at the team. Face shrugged and looked down at their prisoner.

"We won't know for sure until he talks. He probably works for the same guys you were being taken for last night."

"And who are they?" she asked, trying to remember names that cropped up in her research. "The White Snakes, maybe?"

Hannibal nodded. "Good call, kid. The White Snakes. A consortium of businessmen and investors, organized crime bosses, seriously threatened by your story. Any official attention could make them pretty darn uncomfortable, actually."

"Yeah," Face took over, "What with the extortion and the unprincipled practice of killing rivals, not to mention the insider trading and being rude to old people."

"But I know all this," Amy cried, throwing up her hands. "The White Snakes are untouchables. All I could find out is that they exist, and where their interests lie, and I found most of that out from my police sources. The authorities already know about them, and are powerless to act. They're protected in high places. Influential, powerful, virtually invisible. The Snakes are more dangerous than the mafia around here. How can I hurt them?"

"Maybe they think you can," BA suggested, nudging the now stirring man on the floor with his booted toe. "Maybe we should ask him."

Murdock and Face stooped to drag the man into one of Amy's armchairs. His head lolled to one side, and his eyes fluttered open. A look of fear crossed his face, replaced by one of calculation. He pressed his lips together and met the eyes of everyone looking at him with a defiant sneer.

"I don't think he wants to talk, Colonel," Murdock observed. BA thumped his fist into his palm pointedly and glared from under drawn brows. The man seemed to quake a little, but pressed his lips together again. BA leaned his face in right close to the other man's and growled, low and menacing. The man looked a little less sure about his defiance than he did before.

"Hey guy, you better spill some beans before BA here spills your teeth," Murdock suggested, grinning broadly. BA nodded. "Yeah, all over this nice lady's floor."

The man shook his head, looking at the men standing over him. Face met Hannibal's eyes and nodded, once. Then he swung his fist and connected hard with the man's jaw, sending him slumping out of the chair onto the floor. Amy flinched, shocked at the sound of fist on flesh. It had been a few years since she had been up close to the guys' methods and she felt like she did that time at Jamestown – floundering out of her depth. Hannibal held up a hand to her and dug the toe of his boot into the man's ribs.

"Well, buddy?" he asked. The man shook his head again.

Hannibal sighed and looked at Face again. The lieutenant looked mildly disgusted, but balled his fist. Amy stepped between them

"_Wait!"_ she said sharply in Indonesian. She knelt in front of the stranger and put her face in front of his. "_Please talk to them. They will hurt you again. Worse."_

"_I can't, I won't," _the man replied, rubbing his jaw warily, glancing up at BA and Face.

"What did he say?" Murdock asked. Amy shook her head impatiently.

"_Who are you? Why are you watching me?"_ she demanded. _"Do you speak English?"_

The man shook his head and glanced warily upward again. "_If I talk to you I am a dead man. And you are dead anyway. It makes no difference." _ He smiled unpleasantly. _"You should never have gotten involved in affairs you can't understand, American reporter."_

"Amy, care to share what our friend is saying?" Hannibal asked, sounding annoyed.

"_The White Snakes will come for you very soon and these men cannot help you,"_ the man continued. _"We know these men. We will kill them too." _ He gave a short, sharp laugh and sneered at her.

"_Better men than you try and fail,"_ she replied. She stood up and looked at Hannibal. "He's all yours. He won't talk though."

"What did he say?" Hannibal asked again. Amy shrugged.

"Nothing we didn't already know. The Snakes are coming for me. They know about you. Apparently they'll kill all of us." She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the heat of the morning and risked a glance at Face. He was looking at her closely.

She shrugged again. "I'm out of practice with the life and death stuff I guess."

Hannibal crossed to the window and looked out. After a minute, he looked over to BA. "Sleepy time, I think, BA." The big man nodded and picked up their prisoner by the front of his shirt, then knocked him unconscious with a single punch. Amy looked away, but was proud that she didn't flinch again. BA dumped the man into the chair. Hannibal crossed to the window and studied the street. Amy came to join him. He reached out and clasped her arm.

"We got another watcher. They're coming soon. Murdock, secure our guest. We don't want him communicating with his bosses. Face, keep watch. BA, where'd you park the taxi? We're moving fast. Amy," he said, jolting her arm to make sure she was listening to him. "Pack what you need, make the calls you need to make to leave now."

Amy paused for a moment before replying.

"You know something you aren't telling me. Hannibal, what's going on here?"

Surprisingly, Hannibal looked to Face. Face nodded, and crossed to her, taking her arm from Hannibal.

"C'mon Amy, let's pack. I'll explain as we go."

She let him pull her into the bedroom.


	4. Betrayal

**Chapter Three: Betrayal**

Face quickly located her suitcase on the top shelf of her wardrobe, and pulled it down. As he did, the phone beside her bed rang. She went automatically to answer it, but Face arrested her hand on the receiver and picked it up instead.

"Hello?"

His face stayed taut and expectant for a moment, then relaxed a little.

"Sure, hang on,"

He handed the phone to Amy. "It's your friend. Ask her to water your plants while you're away."

Amy took the phone, unsure of who was on the other end. As she raised it to her ear, she could hear Atin saying "… don't know, some American man. Yes, maybe her mysterious boyfriend… Hello? Amy?"

"Atin?"

"Yes! You left me a message to call you. Are you alright?"

Amy felt some small measure of relief move through her. "Atin. Yes, I'm fine. And no, not my American boyfriend. Just a friend I ran into last night."

"Oh. Right. Just a friend." Atin sounded amused. Amy swallowed.

"Listen, Atin, my friend has given me some bad news. I need to go back to the States for a while. I need to leave today."

"What? Today?" Atin sounded less worried than Amy felt she might have. Amy could hear Chokro saying something in the background, getting louder as he walked toward the phone. There was the sound of the handset being handed over to him. In muffled tones, Amy heard Chokro tell Atin to leave the room. When he spoke, he sounded urgent, troubled.

"Amy, it's Chokro. Are you alright?"

"Fine, Chokro. What's wrong?" She felt suddenly scared, more than she had been by the stranger's threats. To hear Chokro sounding so tense… He was normally cheerful and laughing, even on his bad days. Hearing the change in her tone, Face was at her side, listening intently.

"Amy, I was contacted by my superior this morning. There's something going on with the White Snakes. I had to warn you. To tell you to get out."

Amy swallowed, suddenly knowing where this was going. She felt Face's hand in the small of her back.

"Amy, is there any way you can leave Jakarta? Leave the country? You're in danger here."

"Yes," she choked out. "I'm leaving today. Going back to the States for a while."

She heard Chokro exhale. "Good. Good. As long as you do… Amy, they know that the A-Team is there with you."

Amy glanced at Face. "Chokro, tell me what's going on." Then she paused and her throat closed over as she processed what was just said. "The A-Team?" she repeated cautiously and looked at Face. "How did you.. Do you… Are you…?" She was completely unable to phrase the question, but she already knew the answer.

"Richard called me this morning. Richard…" Chokro's voice was tight, hoarse. "You need to know, Amy, I'm sorry. Get out. Now. I'm… so sorry. I had to tell them. I just told them the A-Team was there. They know. I had no choice. He said they'd… Atin…"

Amy felt her throat close. She really was out of practice with this stuff. She didn't used to get this scared, did she? But then, had she ever been in the firing line before? Face took the phone from her, seeing her turn pale.

"Who is this?" she heard him demand. "What do you know?" After a moment, he hung up and turned to face Amy, his expression stern and grim.

"Who was that?"

She hesitated before replying. "My friend. I thought. A local detective."

"Right," Face replied. "And your main source of police information for your investigation?"

Amy nodded. Face sighed, and looked thoughtful for a moment as he considered this new information. Amy frowned.

"Face, tell me what's going on. Stop keeping me in the dark. There's a man tied up in my living room. Someone is trying to kill me. I need to know what's going on."

After a moment, Face nodded once. "We know the White Snakes have taken out a contract on you, open to all comers. Whoever can collect."

Amy felt panic rise in her chest. "That's why you came to me last night? That's why you're here?"

Face nodded. "Only, thanks to your policeman friend picking up some information for his secret bosses, your advantage is gone. So we need to get moving right now. Panic later, okay?" After a moment, Amy sighed. "Okay then. Let's get going."

"Get packing. Quick. Only what you'll need immediately. Travel light." He nodded encouragingly to her, holding her gaze. Amy swallowed, letting him calm her. He turned away and went to the door.

"Hannibal, we're almost set here."

It took Amy fifteen minutes to pack some changes of clothes and her important documents. To the zippered suitcase sitting on her bed, she added a box containing all her research and drafts for this story, every scrap of information she had collected. She'd been careful with this story, kept nothing in her office, nothing unsecured. In this box was the only entire collection of her notes. Maybe she could piece together whatever it was she had that made the White Snakes so worried about her. She swallowed back her fear and started taping the box lid shut. Face was right. Act now. Panic later. She kept moving, kept thinking, kept planning. She could hear the guys in the other room, talking softly. Face stuck his head around the door and regarded her with a smile.

"You nearly done?"

She nodded, biting her stinging lip to keep that sob under wraps.

"Boy," she said acidly, taking refuge in anger, "You gentlemen sure do turn a girl's life around quickly. Less than 12 hours and I'm running for my life."

Face moved into the room and helped her finish taping the box. "Look," he said, biting off the end of the tape and handing the roll back to her. "I know how sudden this must be."

Amy sat on the bed and put her head in her hands, rubbing at her eyes.

"You think?"

Face chuckled and sat beside her. "You could just be bored today, reading the paper and painting your nails. Isn't this more fun?"

Amy gave a small laugh despite herself, and smiled gratefully at him.

"There you go, all better," Face said cheerfully, seeing her smile. "Now admit it, you're glad we're back, aren't you?"

Amy nodded. "I'm glad you're back, Templeton Peck." She saw his expression change, a flicker of something cross his face for a moment. He was always so good at hiding everything under that tan, but she'd always been able to read him in spite of it. She saw him hesitate and the reality of the situation hit her suddenly and hard.

She closed her eyes and turned away as he opened his mouth to speak.

"So," she said before he could say anything, forcing an airy note into her voice as she stood. "How are we flying? Air Murdock?"

After a moment he nodded, once. The air cleared.

"What's in the box?"

"My story notes. All of them. Thought I'd go over them, find out what I've missed that makes me so interesting."

Face nodded, "Good. We'll need that." He picked up the box and grunted in surprise at the weight. "Hm, lots of research. Very diligent."

"Thanks." Amy lifted her suitcase to the floor. Murdock appeared in the doorway.

"You kids ready to make a move soon? Need a hand with anything?"

Face handed him the box. Murdock shot him a sarcastic grin as he struggled with it. "Gee, thanks, Faceman."

Amy shook her head at them. "I need to call my editor, let him know what's happening. The shortened version, at least."

Face nodded. Amy sat on the bed by the phone and lifted the receiver. For a second, she frowned, trying to figure out what was wrong. Then she looked up at Face and Murdock, chilled.

"There's no tone."

Face grabbed the receiver and held it to his ear, hung it up and tried again. He exchanged a serious glance with Murdock.

"Here we go!" Murdock cried. "Hannibal, they've cut the line!"


	5. Window

**Chapter Four: Window**

"Okay guys, they'll be waiting for us to leave here. This apartment is too easily defensible. What about the building, Amy? Any back doors?" Hannibal was down to business. No jazz… yet. Just tactics. Amy was comforted. When the team went up against things like this, they always came out on top.

She shook her head. "No, this is an old building. Just the front door."

"Windows?" BA asked. Amy thought. "To get to the street, only in the first floor apartments. No fire escapes."

Hannibal frowned. "Hmmm. If it were me, I'd hit us in the car. Couple of guys with machine guns, maybe?"

"No guarantees of that, Colonel. We don't know who we're up against. Could be anything out there. Could be taxi goes kaboom, maybe," Murdock drawled. They were gathered in Amy's small lounge area, her case and box by the door. Despite the serious conversation, Amy found herself looking around the room, mentally touching everything there, wondering if she'd ever see it again, if she'd leave anything important behind. Then she spotted it, behind the still unconscious man's head where it lolled against the back of a chair. Silently, she stood up and crossed to her bookshelf and pulled out a book, a cheap romance she'd borrowed from a colleague.

"Odd choice of in flight reading material, Allen," Hannibal commented dryly, looking at her askance.

"Unless you have some cunning escape plan that somehow involves…" Murdock turned his head sideways to read the title. "A Rogue's Changed Heart."

Face snorted. "Maybe we can send them to sleep by reading it to them and slip out."

Amy frowned and pulled a photograph out of the pages. It was one of her and the guys, taken by Daniel just after they'd fixed that wild horse thing for him. Murdock was wearing his ridiculous chaps and had jumped into BA's arms just before the flash went off. Face had his head turned, looking at her where she clutched Hannibal's arm, an odd expression on his face. Amy flashed it at the men on her couches, showing them the picture. She slipped it into her pocket and tossed the book back onto the shelf.

"It's that one Daniel took. I didn't want to leave this picture behind. That's all."

Hannibal sniffed pointedly, then looked to BA. "Biggest problem is going to be getting to transport. Sargent?"

BA looked thoughtful. He rose and crossed to the window, looking out to the street below. Then he crossed the apartment and looked out of the narrow kitchen window to the alley below. His face creased in a grin. "If we can get to the alley, I can get us transport. But we gotta leave now."

"Mrs Kinta, '"Amy said suddenly. "I can get us to the alley."

"Mrs Kinta?" Hannibal sounded dubious.

"Apartment 1 B," Amy replied, smiling her self-satisfied smile. "Trust me."

BA hefted the document box in one hand and held a handgun in the other. "We gotta go now. They'll be watching the alley."

Mrs Kinta answered the door fearfully, as usual, but brightened when she saw Amy. Her wrinkled face creased further into a wide grin.

"_Miss America!" _ she chattered in Indonesian, _" you have at last come to visit this old lady! I have just bought some lovely fresh durians. You like them, don't you?"_

Amy smiled and moved aside, revealing the men standing behind her. Mrs Kinta's face fell, becoming suspicious. Murdock waved cheerily.

"_Mrs Kinta,_" Amy began, "_I'm sorry but I need your help."_ She allowed some of her fear to show. "Please."

The old lady hesitated for a moment, then nodded and stepped back to allow them entry. BA strode straight through the apartment, laid out exactly like Amy's, to the kitchen window. He peered out into the alley. Beyond the frosted glass, a loud rumbling noise was approaching, like a truck moving up the alleyway. A crashing sound accompanied it. Face groaned. "Oh BA, a garbage truck?"

Hannibal chuckled. "Nice, BA. Let's go."

Amy ushered Mrs Kinta out of the kitchen. "_We need to use your window_." She drew out her purse and counted a good amount of currency onto a scarred tabletop. "_I'm sorry I never came for a proper visit with you. Thanks so much."_

The old woman looked up in surprise as BA neatly smashed the glass out of the pane, and swore loudly as her window disappeared. Murdock levered himself out, tossing Amy's case out in front of him. "We're clear, the truck's blocking the alley at one end!"

"_Mrs Kinta, please_," Amy said, sounding as apologetic as she felt. "_Stay away from the kitchen. There might be some fighting."_

"Amy! Let's move!" Hannibal called, as Face exited and took the box from BA. Amy smiled at Mrs Kinta again, then let BA help her onto the sink and then out of the window. She caught her shirt on a glass fragment in the frame, and stuck for a moment. A shot rang out and a bullet buzzed past her ear. She cried out in surprise and came unstuck, tumbling to the concrete below. Murdock and Face pulled her roughly behind a few garbage cans as another shot struck sparks on the road beside them. The alley was narrow, cramped with garbage cans and garbage that never made it to the cans, bordered on both sides by the back walls of apartment buildings. A garbage truck was blocking most of the alley behind them - the runner had taken refuge in the cab when the first bullet struck. The truck had stopped fifteen feet behind them.

"Hold!" Face called to Hannibal and BA. He nodded at Murdock, who needed no prompting. He crouched low and sprinted, hugging the wall, down to the truck, opened the door and pulled out the protesting driver and runner. Three bullets thudded into the hood of the truck, and Face straightened briefly as Amy handed him the gun she was carrying to give Murdock some cover fire. Murdock sounded the truck's horn and began to move it forward. Amy saw a sedan pull into the other end of the alley, blocking their forward escape. Murdock pulled the truck up level with Face and Amy, who swung into the cab, tossing her case and box in before them. He drove on further as Hannibal and BA appeared, struggling out of Mrs Kinta's window and diving into the back of the truck.

"We can't go forward, we're blocked in that way!" Amy cried out. Murdock looked at her and grinned. "Then we go backward, muchacha!"

He whooped and hit reverse gear as a bullet struck the windshield and cracked it. Face pushed Amy down and crouched over her.

"Stay down," he yelled over the noise of the engine. He leaned out of the window and returned fire, hitting their windscreen with much the same effect. He fired again and blew it out all together, causing the car to swerve violently, scraping badly against the walls of the alley. He barked out a short laugh and began to try for their tyre. Amy crouched down as low as she could between Murdock and Face, wedged uncomfortably around her things, and tried not to let her worst imaginings have too much free rein in her head. The truck bounced as Murdock hit the kerb and left the alley. He executed a screeching turn that nearly sent the truck onto two wheels and was out into Jakarta's morning traffic. Horns blared around them as he forced his way into the middle lane. The sedan screamed out after them, Hannibal and BA firing at them out of the back of the truck. After a minute, Amy heard a muffled pop then a screeching, grinding crash. Murdock looked into his side mirror and grinned. Amy leaned over him and saw in the mirror that the sedan had struck some parked cars and ended up on its roof in the middle lane, nearly causing a severe pile up. Murdock laughed.

"Pop goes the tyres," he commented, and swerved awkwardly into another lane. "Geez, this thing handles like a garbage truck." He looked at Amy. "You okay there, Cupcake?"

Amy pushed her hair back. She nodded. "Yes. I think." Face looked at Murdock with a grin.

"We gotta change cars to get to the airport. Frankie's waiting."

"Taxi it is then," Murdock agreed. "You up for it?"

Face grinned that assured grin that was so familiar. "When am I not?"


	6. Departure

**Chapter Five: Departure**

The taxi that Face procured smelled of feet and old curry, but they all fit in with BA driving and Amy wedged between Face and Murdock again. They sped through the busy city traffic zones with BA dodging and weaving as skillfully as any native driver, taking side streets where he could to avoid the famous traffic jams. Hannibal looked at his watch as they stopped at a red light. He twisted around to speak to Face.

"Okay, it's just past midday. Hopefully Frankie's been able to book us that three thirty flight." He looked back to BA. "How long to the airport?"

"Twenty minutes or so," BA replied, hitting the gas as the light changed.

"Spot any tails?"

BA glanced into his mirrors again. "Not so far."

Hannibal frowned. "They'll probably cut straight to the airport then. Try to catch us there. BA, stealthy as possible. Sides and backs, guys."

Face nodded. Amy cleared her throat.

"So Frankie is this Santana guy you told me about?"

"Yeah, Frankie's okay," Murdock answered her. "I mean, he's not strictly a regular, but he helps out when he can. He's cool."

"And he's booked a flight? How did he know what time?"

"We guessed," Hannibal replied shortly.

"Because you guessed the hit squad would be out today?"

Hannibal didn't reply, watching the road. Amy voiced what she had been wondering about since they got into the taxi.

"You are very prepared for someone who's been going off guesswork, Hannibal. You knew the hit would come today. How long have you known?"

He stayed silent. Amy looked at the others but they wore careful, blank expressions.

She sat back, realizing.

"I'm bait, aren't I?"

Face made a pained noise. "It's not like that, Amy, really. We just – "

"We would have gotten you out regardless, kid," Hannibal replied at last. "But by waiting a few days, we kill two birds with one stone. We can draw them out this way, get them where we want them – coming to us in LA."

Amy leaned forward. "LA?"

"Have you come across the name Cyrus Lestari?"

Amy nodded. She had come across a lot of characters and names around the fringes of her investigation. "A couple times, among others. Is he in the region?"

"Of LA," Face replied. "Beverley Hills, to be exact. We think."

"Connection?" Amy asked. _To wanting me dead?_ She added silently.

"Crime. Well organized, international crime." Hannibal grinned. "Lestari is the lynch pin of a group getting a toehold in the US, an extension of the White Snakes. We take him out, we can take the group down before they get big. That's where you come in."

Amy felt her jaw drop. "You guys are gunning high these days. I remember when your main opponents were small town tyrants and mob goons."

"We have resources now," Hannibal replied.

"And we're so terribly respectable," Murdock added, in a posh accent. "Why, we needn't worry at all about even so much as a passport nowadays."

"You have your own passports?" She allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the idea. Murdock pulled a small book out of his back pocket and brandished it at her. "Complete with bad photo."

Amy changed the topic back to the one that was preying on her mind.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why wait?"

"You would have reacted. Tipped them off," Face replied, pulling her back to the back seat. "And we didn't want them to know about us until the last minute. Not that it helped any, in the end."

Amy sat back, acquiescent, pressed between Face and Murdock. She wasn't sure how to react. After Chokro's call this morning, and now this, she wondered if anyone else she trusted had been setting her up.

Nobody else spoke until they reached the airport.

BA pulled into the taxi rank when they reached the departures wing. "Okay guys." Hannibal twisted around in his seat to address the entire team. "Leave the weapons. They'll get us into more trouble here. One of the downsides of normal travel. We need to rely on our respectability now." He scanned the entry quickly.

"Clear," he said, and opened the car door. As Murdock pulled Amy's things out of the trunk, a young, dark, sharply handsome man approached.

"Need a hand with that?'

"Sure Frankie, thanks. How was the airport motel?" Murdock handed him the case and kept the box.

"Flight?" Hannibal asked. The man nodded. "Done. You'll need to check in." He glanced around. "No bad guys yet."

"Yet," BA replied. "This is Amy."

Amy nodded a greeting, allowing the men to hustle her into the air-conditioned building in the centre of their small group.

The queue to check in was short, although the official behind the desk gave them all a short lecture on allowing adequate time to check in before an international flight. Amy checked her case and kept her box of notes as hand luggage, unwilling to allow it more than a few feet away from her body. They gathered at the edge of the queue ropes, watchful. Hannibal placed an arm under her elbow. "C'mon kid, we've been in hairier situations. Let's go grab some lunch."

"Good," Frankie added, coming up on her other side. "I'm starved. I've been waiting for you guys forever." Amy bent to pick up her box to find BA's large hands already reaching for it. She smiled her thanks to him as she straightened up, but as she did so, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. Casually, she kept moving, reaching her arms up over her head as if she was stretching. Yes, she was sure. There was a man wearing a tan suit standing by the check in desk, peering into the crowd. His jacket hitched across his chest in a bulge that Amy recognized immediately. She smiled and turned away from him, leaning into Hannibal and picking up his wrist as if to check his watch.

"Tan suit, by the desk."

"Uh-huh. I made him."

"He's carrying a gun. I can see the shoulder holster."

Hannibal nodded, smiling delightedly as if Amy had just cracked a joke. "I know it, kid, I see him. Face, BA, Murdock split into a perimeter. Keep a sharp eye. They won't attack if we stay in public."

The sandwiches did nothing to either comfort Amy or assuage her hunger. She hadn't had anything but her cup of black coffee in the morning but the sandwiches were made dry and tasteless by her tension. There was a family at the table next to them with two small children who chattered loudly and quickly, who seemed to be enjoying the airport food a lot more than she was. Around her, clustered around the small chrome and plastic table in the crowded, fluorescent lit airport lounge, the guys were watchful, eating without paying attention to the act. Only Frankie was inclined to talk much.

"So, you ran with these crazy guys in the early days?" he asked, shoving half a sandwich into his mouth. Amy nodded.

"Not so early. Only a few years ago."

"They didn't mention you much. Bet you miss it though." He grinned round his food. "Miss the jazz, I mean."

Amy considered. "I won't say I didn't miss it. Just a little."

"Well that's reassuring," Face chimed in, nudging her knee with his under the table.

"We've got company," Murdock said pleasantly, quietly. "Four goons at ten o'clock."

"Three more over there," BA noted, careful not to look up. Amy glanced up and spotted the man in the tan suit approaching casually, wearing a smile. As the goons began to close in, BA began to rise, looking menacingly at them. Hannibal laid a hand on his arm, nodding at the children. "Not here, BA. Too many bystanders." Amy felt Face tense beside her and even the genial Frankie began to push his sleeves up purposefully. What they needed was a distraction, some allies and a safe place to stay until they could board the flight. What they really didn't need was a fight where they were outnumbered, outgunned, and at risk of endangering innocent strangers. She thought about what she had learned of White Snake tactics through her research, through what Chokro had told her. Like Hannibal said, they were unlikely to try anything with so many witnesses around. She leaned toward Hannibal and whispered "They can't touch us, Hannibal. Not with so many people." She looked upward and nodded. "Or cameras."

"But if we give them the slightest chance…" Face said, intent on the suited goons, who had stopped twenty feet away.

"We need a safe spot," Amy muttered. Face motioned to the security camera with a nod. "Like a security office?"

"I like it," Hannibal said. Then he frowned and stood up, glowering at Amy.

"I can't believe this! My own woman, with… that!" He gestured rudely at Face who looked genuinely caught off guard for a moment. The Lieutenant caught on quickly, and stood up behind Amy, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"What's the matter old man? Jealous?" He assumed a wheezy, whiny voice. "The lady feels like a younger change."

Amy decided to weigh in, feeling the tiniest bit of Jazz crazing through her veins. She slapped Hannibal decisively, laughing loudly. The family at the next table, along with every other traveler in the immediate area, looked at them aghast. Frankie looked like he was trying not to grin.

"Your woman, sweetie?" she drawled, turning on her best Dakota Haines. "I might have been. I got some sugar now."

"Duck," Hannibal muttered between his teeth. She did and he swung his fist, nearly hitting Face. Amy cried out dramatically and upset a chair. She risked a glance around. In the crowd of fascinated, disgusted, shocked faces, she didn't see a single security guard. She shook her head quickly and turned back to Face.

"Oh sugar," she drawled, pinching his cheek. "He didn't hurt you did he?" She slapped Hannibal again, stamping her foot, then ducked as Hannibal swung his fist again. This time he connected with Face's jaw, sending the younger man leaping away in surprise. Amy flinched and sent Hannibal a shocked look. He shrugged. Amy searched the crowd. Still no guards. She sent a pleading look to Murdock. He grinned, seeming to be only too happy to oblige.

"I can't believe he's cheating on me with you!" he shrieked, sending his chair to the ground as he shot to his feet. "You hussy!"

A small bubble of laughter escaped from Frankie. BA sent him a disgusted look.

"Don't encourage him. Sit the hell down, fool. Security guards are coming."

Sure enough, three uniformed guards were finally pushing through the crowd, which included the White Snake goons, coming toward Amy, Face, Hannibal and Murdock.

"Ouch, Hannibal," Face pronounced, rubbing his jaw as the guards reached them. Hannibal said nothing, but raised his eyebrows and gestured at his face where he had been slapped. Amy made a sympathetic noise, never so grateful to see an airport guard as she was at that moment. She spotted their pursuers in the watching crowd and gave them a wink and a small wave as the team allowed themselves to be hustled away. Frankie grinned at her.

"You remember the Jazz now, don't you!"

It took the better part of an hour, and all of Hannibal's and Face's considerable persuasive tactics to convince the security officers in charge that the domestic disturbance really was just a teensy misunderstanding and, oh, listen, wasn't that their boarding call? With their second airport lecture of the day over, Amy and the A-Team were escorted to their departure lounge and watched closely until boarding began.

Something began to occur to Amy. She leaned in to whisper to Murdock.

"When do we give BA his knock out drops?" BA himself was starting to sweat and fidget, eyeing the exits and the guards and Hannibal all at once, his big hands clenching in his lap. Frankie was talking to him soothingly. BA wasn't listening. He looked like he was working hard just to stay sitting. Amy was surprised he hadn't bolted before now. Murdock saw her expression.

"He flew here to get you, kid. He's gone up voluntarily a few times now. Only when it's real urgent though."

"Voluntarily, really?"

Murdock nodded. "It always ends badly though." He nodded over to where Face and Hannibal had their heads together. "Just watch."

So she did. She watched as Face sauntered over to a smiling stewardess, leaned in to her and, with a smile and a well timed flick of his fringe, created that small intimate bubble in which he had always done his best work. Amy saw him gesture to BA, and ask for something. She could tell he was asking for something. He always let the other person suggest it first. She felt that strange hollowing sensation in her chest again, the one she always associated with the statue of Arjuna. Murdock followed her gaze.

"Like poetry, isn't it? The old Faceman in action. You know," he said, assuming a plummy voice and flicking his hair with a long fingertip, "I took over from Faceman after you left. For a while, at least, while he was otherwise engaged. I was _on fire_ with talent." He looked airily into the middle distance. "And I got the date with the pretty girl, not Face."

"Always the pretty girl, isn't it?" Amy asked irritably, her repressed fear and anger resurfacing. "You've raised the standards of your targets for beatings but not for dating, I see. Still heading for the nice legs." She watched Face agree wholeheartedly with whatever the stewardess was suggesting, and saw her gesture to a wheelchair, folded by the boarding gate. Face sent a look to Hannibal, who had positioned himself behind BA. As BA's nerve broke and he stood up, opening his mouth to refuse to fly again, Hannibal gave him a jab with a needle produced from his sleeve and the big man began to topple. Frankie dove forward to catch him and helped lower him into the wheelchair the stewardess brought over. She was just the type, Amy thought: blonde, pretty, smiles too much, far too easily gulled by the likes of Templeton Peck. The gate staff were beckoning to them.

"Plus," Murdock commented, picking up her box of papers, "this way we get boarded first."

Amy felt suddenly awkward. "Hey, Murdock, I'm sorry for snapping just now."

He gave her a disconcertingly searching look, then grinned and shifted the box to his hip so he could sling an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. "Fageddaboutit, right?" He pulled her onward, past the boarding staff and down the passage. Ahead of them, Face chatted raptly with the blonde stewardess who had, Amy noted, very nice legs.


	7. Mile High

**Mile High**

He had always known that she had seen him underneath all his disguises and his smiles and the disarming sense of being naked had always been intensely uncomfortable.

Watching her sleep now, head crooked uncomfortably sideways against a thin airline pillow, jaw slack and purpling with a bruise, hair flat and tired, he felt the same sensation of nakedness. He looked up and saw Murdock watching him. The cabin lights had been dimmed and the Chevy Chase movie held less appeal than the cardboard with gravy he'd had for dinner. Amy had an aisle seat beside BA, with Face across from her and the others in front and behind. Murdock sat behind Amy and watched Face with an unnervingly steady gaze.

Face raised his eyebrows in a question. Murdock copied him, cocking his head to one side, then sat back and closed his eyes, opening them again after a few seconds to sneak an ostentatious peek.

Face reclined his chair and lay back, wedging his pillow under his neck. It was true that years had passed. He was a different person and he supposed that she was as well – but seeing her sitting by the fountain, her dress illuminated by fireworks, fingers trailing in the murky water had affected him differently than he had imagined it might. For a moment, it seemed that she had never left, that things between them had only just turned sour and the heat that rose in his veins when he looked at her was still rising, that the last few years and all the pretty girls and brushes with death had never happened to him. All the desire, the exasperation, the guilt and the confusion had arisen in him so strongly that he had to consciously swallow it down like a bitter taste.

And now, strangely, it was all gone and he was himself again. His past with Amy could stay in the past as far as he was concerned and he refused, as ever, to contemplate his future with any idea of firm plans. He registered someone walking down the aisle toward him and looked up to see Caroline looking down at him wearing a very familiar kind of smile. In addition to helping him with BA she had also upgraded their meal service and now she looked to be offering something rather different. He was no stranger to the membership requirements of this particular club. For a moment, he was tempted. She had legs that went very far up. He smiled at her and her expression gave him the familiar thrill of knowing he could have her if he wanted her.

"Can I get you anything, Mr Peck?" she asked, drawing his name out in a way that left him in no doubt of what he could ask of her. He didn't. He gestured at Amy.

"Could we have another pillow for the lady?" he asked softly. Caroline looked confused for a moment, then let her professional façade take over and nodded, returning a minute later with another pillow. She gently prodded Amy awake and offered it to her. Amy made grateful noises and made herself more comfortable.

Caroline didn't look at him as she walked away.

Face looked over at Amy to find her eyes open and her gaze on his face. She smiled at him sleepily, blinked slowly then closed her eyes and slept again.

His heart registered a tiny hollow discomfort that felt familiar and strange at the same time. He looked back at Murdock, who had his eyes closed but a broad smile on his face. Sighing, Face closed his eyes. Finally sleep came.


	8. Safe House

**Chapter Six: Safe House**

The safe house they took her to was deep in the suburbs. Face had brandished the keys like a talisman and gave her his best realtor smile.

"Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, generously appointed living areas and all mod appliances."

Jetlagged and weary, more interested in the two bathrooms and their two showers than anything else, Amy nodded politely. Face went on, hustling her through the front door and into the house.

"Beautifully located, as you can see, in a family friendly cul de sac with nearby parkland and shopping areas. Tastefully decorated throughout, of course." He gestured around at a wide, high ceilinged room that contained a sofa, two mismatched chairs and a packing crate with half a game of solitaire laid out on it and an empty beer bottle beside it. Face shrugged.

"I don't spend much time here, actually. I've got a nice condo in Santa Monica."

"Shower's upstairs," Hannibal said, as he carried Amy's case in behind them. "Welcome to Casa A-Team."

"I'll teach you the super secret knock later," Murdock added, as he entered with Frankie and headed for the kitchen. "I'll bet that bread I left out could cure the common cold by now. I could be famous!"

Finally Amy made it up the stairs into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She sank down to sit on the floor, back against the closed door, sighing as bone deep weariness began to take her over. Two days ago, more or less, she was planning a night out with Richard, Atin and Chokro, dancing at a club like no one was trying to kill her or use her as bait for some crime boss. She reached up and pulled a green towel from the hook on the back of the door. BA had assured her it was clean, but it smelled musty. Nonetheless, she pulled her knees up to her chest, balled up the towel to use as a pillow, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply and slowly. It was _good_ to be home, she admitted. Above all else, whatever else was happening around her, being back in the US, and back in this small world was like coming home after a long time away. To my family, she thought, then sat up with a start. Her parents. She should probably tell them she was okay. Her mother called her often in Jakarta and would raise an alarm if Amy stopped answering the phone. She'd do that tonight then, after she'd showered, changed, regained her balance. She'd always prided herself on her composure, her adaptability. She stood up and began to strip, catching sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was still bruised, and she had smudges under her eyes from fatigue. For a moment she looked closely at herself then she turned away decisively, reaching into the shower to turn on the hot water. After a sputtering start it ran hot and fast and she immersed herself in it for a while.

Scrubbed and toweled, she emerged from the bathroom some time later and slipped across the hall to the bedroom that Murdock had nominated as hers. It contained only a single bed and a chair and contained a faint scent of aftershave and sweat. A battered baseball cap hung from the wardrobe door-knob and a few old shirts hung inside the door. She'd missed this _maleness, _she realized, and breathed deeply for a moment. She pulled on a clean dress from her case and ran a comb through her hair. Someone walked down the hall outside the closed door, paused outside the room, then kept walking. Amy crossed the room and opened the door, to find Frankie standing awkwardly a few feet away. She raised her eyebrows at him. He smiled.

"Hiya. Nice shower?"

Amy nodded, bemused. She raised her eyebrows again, in a silent question. Frankie looked uncomfortable.

"I, uh, think I left some flash fuses in here last time we were here. Seen them?"

"No. I haven't but I'm not sure I'd know what I was looking at." She stepped aside and waved him into the room. He brushed past her and opened the wardrobe, rummaging for a moment.

"Ah. There you are," he said to a small silver box as he pulled it out. He stood and handed it to Amy.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Aluminium, carbon, potassium perchlorate."

"Huh?"

"Flash powder. Goes boom, real brightly."

"Oh. Good." She handed the box back to him. He pocketed it. She crossed her arms. "Now what's really up?" She was pleased Frankie had come up, actually. He interested her and she had been hoping for a chance to meet him properly.

Frankie looked at her closely for a moment then raised his hands in a supplicating gesture.

"Don't be too hard on them. It's been kind of dark this last year. They've been kind of… floundering, I guess, 'til recently. I think they've changed since you ran with them. Hell, I've changed since I met Johnny and it's blown my mind. These guys are… well…"

Amy smiled at him, understanding, glad he had brought it up. "I know what you mean. I do." She sighed. "I think a lot of things have changed since I last knew these guys."

Frankie nodded emphatically. "It was true what I said in the airport – they didn't mention you much. But they did mention you sometimes."

Amy was intrigued in spite of herself. "What did they say?"

Frankie shrugged and sat down on the bed. Amy joined him.

"That you were a reporter," he said. "That you ran with them, worked the outside, liked dynamite."

"Liked dynamite?" Amy had to laugh out loud.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Frankie asked suddenly. Amy looked at him "What is?"

"Hanging with these guys. You of all people would understand."

Amy nodded, catching on, comprehending his meaning completely. "Like you're here but not _there_."

"Allowed to come to the meetings but not a real member of the club," Frankie agreed. They sat in companionable silence for a moment together. After a few seconds, Frankie stood and grinned. "Murdock's making sandwiches downstairs if you're hungry."

"I'll be right down. I can't believe the guys own a house now."

"A couple, actually." Frankie gestured around himself. "Don't use this one much. Face is thinking of letting it out."

She nodded, reaching for her discarded towel.

"So," he said after another moment. "Good to be home?"

Amy smiled and stood up to finish drying her hair. "I was just thinking that. Good to be home."

Frankie left her then. She didn't bother with shoes and twisted her hair up with a few pins. As she padded down the stairs, she heard Hannibal speaking to someone in a clipped, businesslike way.

"Thanks Carla. Yeah, we got her. She's fine. We'll move on to the next stage and you tell Stockwell this time it's played _my _way. This is a favour to him that he doesn't deserve." He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "No, that was a favour that we _do_ deserve."

She heard him hang up the phone as she entered the dining room. The guys were gathered around a small wooden table with a plate in the centre piled high with sandwiches. They didn't look up as she paused in the dining room doorway.

"And?" Face asked Hannibal.

"Good to go. Stockwell's coming through with updated intel on Lestari. He says he interested in our read on the situation." Hannibal looked positively perky as he looked over at Amy and gestured her to a chair at the table. "Good to know who's after you at any rate, kid."

She sat, feeling unaccountably as if she were sitting down to one of her mother's Sunday dinners. Murdock pushed a glass of soda and the plate over to her and she took a sandwich, not wanting to guess what was inside it.

"This isn't the bread you left out, is it?" Face asked as he took a sandwich and passed the plate on. Murdock smiled enigmatically. "The sandwiches are not only fine but also healthy and delicious." He looked at Amy, straight-faced and pleasant voiced. "I'm a sane man now, you see."

"Never," Amy replied warmly. She took a bite of her sandwich, discovered it to be ham and pickle, and took another bite. Then, after a swallow of soda, she looked around at the men on either side of her.

"Alright, so I'm the bait. Tell me about the rat. Who's Carla? What's the deal here? And," she said emphatically, meeting Hannibal's calm gaze purposefully, "no more protecting me. I said I wanted to know the score and I really, really do. You never used to keep secrets like this."

There was no sound, except BA finishing his soda and replacing his glass onto the tabletop. Finally Hannibal looked at her with a calculating expression.

"Alright then, Amy, you want to know the score, here it is." He took a bite of his sandwich, looked pleased and gestured to Murdock. "Good sandwich, Captain." Then he took another deliberate mouthful, chewed for a moment, then brushed his hands on his pant legs and leaned forward.

"Cyrus Lestari is the headman of a feeler group the White Snakes are trying to establish in the US, based in LA. Now, at the moment, they're still fighting for room at the trough. There are a lot of long established crime groups here that don't want the White Snakes expanding into their territory."

"But the Snakes are winning ground?" Amy guessed. Beside her, Face nodded.

"Heard of Tommy Largo, mobster?" he asked. Amy nodded.

"Ex mobster," Murdock supplied, taking up the story. "Ah, memories… It seems like just yesterday we were foiling his evil schemes, and then just a few months ago he gets a shiv between the shoulder blades for his birthday in the State Penitentiary. Happy birthday, Tommy." He took a bite of his sandwich.

"And it's not just the minor leagues like Largo," Face finished.

"But all this must be attracting someone's attention," Amy commented. "The FBI?"

"It's attracted attention all right." Hannibal looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. "We told you about Stockwell and his operations."

"Stockwell? But you told me about him. That you didn't work for him anymore, not since the pardon."

"Call it a favour, a mutually beneficial one."

Amy suspected he was holding back and glanced at Face. His expression told her to let it lie as Hannibal had told it.

"Alright," she said, relenting, "tell me about Lestari. What's the plan?"

Hannibal looked to Face. "Lieutenant?"

Face leaned forward. "Lestari and his crew are an Indonesian import, brought in to get things started here. If they can be damaged now, at this stage, we can topple the whole plan, give the authorities a chance to stop the entire organization taking root here. All we need to do is give Stockwell an entry point and he'll take them down." He shrugged elegantly. "Stockwell's intelligence agents think you have something that caused the contract to be called. Maybe some evidence they can use to get that entry point."

Amy digested this, and thought about what she already knew.

"I came across Lestari's name on a few odd occasions," she remembered. "But nothing concrete or particularly criminal." Hannibal nodded.

"Carla thinks the local branch might be digging up start up funds by importing funny money and drugs from the Snakes in Jakarta."

"And selling them to kids," BA added unhappily.

"Unlikely, not their style. They'll already have the start up capital through legitimate business ventures. What sort of funding have they gotten from business connections?" Amy asked, intrigued, the story already writing itself in her head. "The Snakes' MO is to establish links to local business interests. Leading to money laundering and suspect investment, mostly." She remembered Hal and Jerry and shivered. "I wondered at one point if they weren't forcing legitimate businesses and investors to play along."

"That we don't know," Hannibal replied. "Carla's still working on tracking the numbers here."

"Lestari is smart, wary, well guarded and impossible to get to," Face said. "You have something that makes him scared of you. Hence the contract. That's what we need."

"We're not even completely sure what these dudes look like. That's where Senor Stockwell comes in handy," Murdock commented around the last crust of his sandwich.

Amy nodded slowly. "So I have some piece of… evidence?"

Hannibal looked at her, at the others. "So Stockwell thinks."

"Well what is it I have?" she asked bluntly. Hannibal shrugged.

"That's something I don't know. What do you have?"

"No idea. I guess I can take another look through my notes," she said. "Here's a question, the hit came from Jakarta, from the White Snakes there. Not from Lestari. Why should he even be interested in me?" She looked around the table. "Or did it?"

Hannibal took a long swallow of soda, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned at her. "That's the beauty of it, see? It was Lestari who ordered the hit from LA after he heard you were investigating the Snakes in Jakarta. I don't know what you found, kid, but it's obviously something that scares the scary guys. Interesting, isn't it?"

Amy wished she knew what she had found as well. "Cyrus Lestari wasn't even the focus of my story. I was looking into a coalition of Indonesian businesses, influenced and probably directed by the White Snakes, contributing money to the Saleh terrorist group, using it as a vehicle for profitable laundering and handing them a hefty portion of the profit as payment, among other things. I didn't mention Lestari at all."

"But you've got a mighty big box of notes in there, Princess," Murdock said. "Who knows what you're sitting on, not even knowing what you've got?"

"I don't always use everything I find," Amy agreed. "Some stuff I was planning on using for follow up stories, so it's possible I might have connected some dots in the near future."

"Leaving that aside," Face broke in, "what did Carla have to say?"

Hannibal looked thoughtful. "Just that she had some updates on Lestari's movements for us in the time we were away. Some surveillance photos. I want to pick them up tonight so we know who to watch for."

"Well, we'd better know why we're here," Frankie said. "Go through Amy's notes, find out if she really has got anything to scare this guy with."

Hannibal nodded. "Right. Face, Frankie, Amy, stay here and go through those research notes with a fine tooth comb. There's got to be something in there that's making Lestari so nervous. BA, Murdock, you guys are with me. We'll go pick up whatever new intel Stockwell has. Also, I need to go make my excuses with Marty Freeman. He's upset that I left in the middle of the shoot. Go figure." He picked up the remaining half of his sandwich and rose, finishing it in a few bites. BA got up and went into the living room, returning with the box of notes. He thumped it down on the table in front of Amy.

"Have fun with the reading."

The house seemed quiet after they had gone. Face disappeared into the kitchen and Amy heard him dialing the phone and speaking to someone named Charlene. _Typical, _she thought. It was just like old times: more and more she could feel herself slipping back into her old, pre-Face induced humiliation A-Team persona, the go-to girl who understood and observed, the protected one, whether she wanted it or not. Face reappeared, pushing some scraps of paper into his pockets. Frankie looked up.

"Anything for me?"

Face shook his head. "Nope. Mostly Marty Freeman looking for Hannibal and the Golden Pheasant wondering if Mr Murdock would be coming back to work, since he did run out in the middle of the dinner shift." He grimaced. "And Charlene herself was pretty mad at me for missing our date. Gave me an earful over the phone."

Frankie grinned. "That's why you don't date the answering service girl, Face." He stood up and collected the dishes, disappearing into the kitchen. He rinsed the plates and glasses in the kitchen sink and set them to dry while Face helped Amy begin sorting through the piles of paper and notebooks. Face raised his eyebrows at the sheer amount of information she had collected.

"Wow. Very thorough. I'm impressed."

Amy lifted a stack of notebooks from the box, flicked through them and tossed a few back in. "You said that before. Don't get too impressed. A lot of this is filler. Nothing important, stuff I discarded, bad leads, that sort of thing – and we don't even know what we're looking for." She rearranged a pile of papers. "Sounds like you guys dropped everything to come to Jakarta." She looked up at Face, who nodded, wearing a pleasant, don't ask, don't tell smile. "Sure." He took out a stack of index cards and held them out to Amy. She took them and began to flick through them. Then she stopped and picked up a plain pad with a red cover. She opened it and stared down at the pages. Face sensed her shift in mood and looked over at her.

"What?"

"This is the information Chokro gave me." She sighed and threw the pad back into the box. "Worthless now I guess." She sank into a chair and stared at Face miserably. He frowned and fished the pad back out of the box.

"Not necessarily. He was still your main police source, even if he was working both sides." He smoothed out the cover and placed the pad on a pile of papers, then sat down beside Amy. He didn't say anything, just reached for a pile of index cards and began to flick through them, glancing at her every so often. They sat in silence listening to Frankie whistle in the kitchen. Face's concerned gaze was warm on her and she allowed herself to think clearly for a moment about what she might have felt for him over the last few years. _Felt_, she reminded herself. Whatever lingering feelings she had for him were just that. Lingering. The Face sitting beside her now was not the Face she'd fantasized about in Jakarta. That Face had been like a ghost, a habit she'd not broken. This one was flesh and memory and reality and felt like a stranger, despite the familiar way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She studied his face, instead of the notebooks in front of her, searching for the familiar and marking the unfamiliar, steadfastly telling herself that everything was different now.

Face shifted in his seat under her gaze and replaced the cards on the table, splaying his fingers over them. He hesitated uncomfortably before he spoke. "He's still your friend, Amy, whatever he had to do in the past. I'm sure he's sorry. Wouldn't want things to be difficult because of some… well…"

Amy stood up, lifting bundles of paper out of the box and setting them in a neat pile on the tabletop, replacing some she deemed irrelevant. "I don't think I feel anything about him any more."

Face stood, not looking at her but intent, pulling another bundle of notebooks from the box. "He's changed since you last really spoke to him, I'll bet."

Smiling bleakly, her heart pressing against her ribs, Amy faced him. "Is there any point to this? I exorcised those ghosts a while ago, Face." She turned away from him, angry at Chokro's betrayal, angry that Face's expression when he looked up reminded her that he could be extraordinarily compassionate. She felt him put a hand on her shoulder.

"Amy, I wasn't talking about your police friend."

"I know."

She turned to face him again; he kept his hand on her shoulder and didn't move, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What past is past, Face."

Slowly he nodded, exhaling. "Good… Good."

"Whoa." Frankie appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, dishcloth in hand. "Okay, awkward. I'll go… away."

Face dropped his hand leaving a cold spot on Amy's shoulder. He looked away and Amy could breathe again. She ignored the heat that rose in her at his touch and pulled away, regaining her exterior, her composure. Amy Allen of the A-Team. Melancholy Amy from Jakarta, she told herself sternly, could disappear back there to her distant statue lover. Face sat down and began to flick through Chokro's note pad.

"No, it's okay Frankie. Come on in. We're about done talking, I think. Let's get reading. Find out what Miss Allen has that makes her so interesting."


	9. Retrospective: How It Didn't End

**Retrospective: How It Didn't End**

She didn't know exactly when she began to soften toward Face. She'd previously held herself away from him, seeing exactly what was there – and what was lacking in him – and letting it go, not caring to involve herself. There was no one point at which she could look and say "There. That's when it happened. That's when I fell." There was no one incident where the acquaintance had become friendship, where the teasing had given way to something else on her part. In retrospect, of course the obvious thing might be to point to the time that they went to Ray Brenner's funeral in Barlow Creek. She and Trish had been pinned in the house, terrified, by those murderous goons, and when she'd heard Face's voice at the front door she'd never been so glad to hear anyone in her life – not just anyone, _Face_. She'd run to let them in and clung to him so tightly for a moment that he'd grunted in surprise and held her carefully before slipping his arms away to take the rifle Hannibal had handed him. She had been so reluctant to let him go, and he had looked so concerned, and later in the car Trish had looked at her sideways with a small smile and said "So… Face?" and Amy had protested long and convincingly. In truth, she had been too surprised to think clearly. It would be easy to point to that moment, but probably incorrect -

But…

In retrospect, that _had_ been the moment when she knew that she might be in over her head.

It didn't truly surface until she met Cash Patterson. That was after they got back from South Africa, that diamond mining escapade that left her picking dust out of her sunburn for days afterward. Dark, charming and with a ready made reputation as a heart breaker, Cash had been hired on at the paper while she was away and had wound up with some of her internal mail, and when he asked her out for a drink, she hadn't said no straight away and had laughed about him later with the team. When drinks turned into dinner, she said yes much more quickly and didn't tell the team at all. When Face and Cash met up at her door, she realized that either the saying yes or the keeping it to herself had been a mistake, but she couldn't tell which.

"So," Face had said, eyeing Cash with a wary smirk after awkward introductions had been made. "Cash. Well, Amy, now we know what it takes to melt your icy exterior, huh?"

She considered closing the door on both of them, or throwing a table lamp. Instead she gave Face that smile of hers that she knew irritated him and slipped her arm through Cash's.

"We are going out to dinner. If you're a good boy I'll give you a restaurant review tomorrow. Goodnight Face."

He didn't move. "Is this entirely safe, Amy? I mean, going out again so soon after… Well, Cash, let's just say that I admire your bravery."

Cash looked uneasily between them. "Bravery?"

Face looked appropriately impressed. "Well, sure. I mean, not everyone would date ol' AVO Amy. I'm Frank, by the way, Frank Waters. I used to work at the paper as well and when I heard about you, well, I just had to warn you."

Cash looked confused. "AVO?"

Face took his arm from Amy's and leaned in to him confidentially. "As in, Apprehended Violence Order. Surely you heard about Peter Lancaster in Accounts? Or Steve Fields in Sports?" Amy shook her head and mentally injured Face six different ways.

"Beat it _Frank_, or I swear I will _kill_ you tomorrow," she hissed at him. He nodded at her, certain of his victory. "See?" He leaned in to Cash again. "I'd leave now, before she gets too excited."

And that was that. Cash made his excuses and Amy let him leave. She and Face stared at each other.

"What?" she finally demanded. Face smirked.

"Hannibal wants you. Planning meeting. Got that job coming up."

"And since when do you need me at one of these things?"

Face shrugged and led her outside to his 'Vette, parked at the kerb. "I'm doing you a favour. He only wanted one thing."

Amy sighed and made a face as she did up her seatbelt. "And maybe I was perfectly okay with that. Running around with you boy scouts all the time doesn't really leave me with a lot of time for a social life you know. It's really none of your business."

"What do you need a social life for?" He gave her a blinding smile. "Are we boy scouts not the heart and soul of excitement?"

"Uh-huh." She frowned darkly as he pulled neatly away from the curb and sped into the heart of the city. When they reached the warehouse that was the team's current base and went inside, Hannibal looked up with a puzzled smile.

"Hi Face, you're late. What's up, Amy?"

"Weren't you expecting me, Hannibal?" she asked coolly, knowing the answer. He shook his head and gave Face an odd look. "No, but you look lovely. Coffee?"

Amy spent the next half hour mentally murdering Face in ever more inventive ways. When Hannibal finally declared himself satisfied and left with BA, Face had the good grace to look slightly abashed.

"Sorry about that, Amy. I didn't like the look of him."

She regarded him stonily, unforgiving. He smiled at her and she felt herself begin to relent, just a little. Reluctantly, she returned his smile.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll take you to dinner at Gino's to apologise."

That was when it should have ended. It never does end when it should.

Amy, for the first time, truly got to experience Face full-force, charm and wit and perfectly timed gestures of casual but appropriate affection. She could see through every second of course - she'd been running with them long enough to be able to predict almost every move – but she'd never had it turned on her before and she could understand now why so many of LA's terminally single women would line up for this.

"Come on kid," he said when the last crumb of tiramisu was demolished and the last dreg of strong Italian coffee was cooling in the bottom of the cup. "I'll drive you home. You can even ring Cash and make your apologies."

"I'm sure that will do some good," she replied caustically, pulling on her jacket and standing up. "I wonder what he will have told people in the office tomorrow."

"Nothing they don't already know," Face said, smirking, handing some bills to their waiter. "_Grazie_, Gianni."

She wondered how she should end the evening on the way home. Face had seriously overstepped boundaries with Cash. She just wondered how on earth she could actually say it without raising questions for herself about why it didn't upset her as much as it should have.

In the end, she didn't say anything, and when the trouble with Chao had erupted she'd let it lay, distracted by the action. Afterwards it had seemed too trivial to bring up again.

The real damage had begun on a plane on the way to Ecuador and gotten worse later. "The only woman I ever loved," he said, his face hectic and for a moment entirely honest. Something had caught at her then, a naked facet of himself he had left exposed for a moment. She had understood and left well enough alone. She'd been so angry with Hannibal later on about his casual categorization of her in the same classification system he applied to nuns and small children. On the way home, still not cooled off, she remembered the office gossip, the possibility of a posting to Jakarta, and began to wonder.

Afterward, she and Face had dropped Murdock back to the VA and Face had been quiet, even pensive, as they drove away. After the third silent stop at a traffic light, she'd reached across and touched his arm.

"You're very quiet, Mr Peck. What's on your mind?'

He hesitated before replying. "Just… thinking. About Leslie and… things."

Amy regarded him, disconcerted at his distant expression, as they took off through the intersection. This was new. Face had never seemed particularly introspective, but she supposed that everyone had their moments.

"Do you want to talk about it? With someone not directly involved?"

Again he hesitated, but he shook his head. "Only a few minutes to your place." He yawned hugely. "Spare a guy some coffee? All this running for your life takes it out of you. I may not last another hour to get home."

Amy shook her head. "I'm all out. Sorry." She pointed to an all night market on the corner ahead. "Pull over. I'll pick some up. Feel like anything else?"

He waited in her car for her while she bought a tin of coffee and a bag of sugar. She had never been truly domestic, was always running out of things. When she came back to the car, he was staring out the window and didn't see her until she opened the door. Amy buckled herself in, feeling worried. Face seemed… distracted, unguarded. She'd never seen this before and it made her unaccountably wary. She began talking to him about something amusing that had happened at the paper a few days previously in an attempt to lighten his mood and by the time he pulled up in front of her apartment building she'd succeeded. He was laughing as she opened her door to let them in and laid the paper sack with the coffee and the sugar in the kitchen.

"Sit," she said, pointing to her couch. "Just shove the papers aside."

He looked dubiously at the pile of paper and books that heaped across the cushions. "I shouldn't stay."

She picked up her kettle and gestured with it. "Sit. You wanted coffee, remember?" She turned to the sink and ran some water. "I'm worried about you. Seeing Leslie again seems to have really knocked you around." Kettle full, she replaced it onto the counter top and flicked it on to boil. She turned to him. He was staring at her uncomfortably.

"So talk," she said, calmly and softly. "I'm a safe bet, Face, I know nothing. Who am I going to tell?" After a moment, she saw something shift in his expression. For a moment, she thought he might be tempted by her offer, let a few more guards down. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks, but…" He cleared a space on the couch and flopped elegantly down. "I don't like to talk about it much." She didn't push him, but when she'd handed him his strong coffee, he began to talk anyway. Nothing he hadn't already told her, and she knew when he was keeping something back. She could almost see him clutch it to himself. When he was finished his coffee, he'd thanked her, and she thought it might have been the first genuine thanks he'd ever given her. She'd seen him to the door, opened it and when he turned back to her to say goodnight… she knew he would kiss her. It hung between them and when he shifted his weight to lean in to her lips, she'd pulled back. His expression shifted instantly to one of chagrin and embarrassment. Amy laid a hand on his cheek and gave him a small smile. "Face…"

He swallowed, his expression becoming distant, and leaned in again. Again, she pulled away, a minute, almost reluctant, movement.

"Sorry," he muttered. She nodded.

"I'm not comfort food, Face. But it's okay, I get it."

He hesitated and looked at her closely. "I know… I …"

Then he'd sped out the door so fast and gratefully she thought that another girl might have been insulted. She was just intrigued. She'd never seen behind his face before.

Another dinner followed the next night, Gino's again, same table. Face's handsome, tanned shields were carefully in place again but something had shifted in their dynamic, something small and indefinable. He seemed more… relaxed, more open. Amy discovered that she enjoyed talking to Face, enjoyed his quick wit - enjoyed, she admitted, being able to navigate his weaknesses and unconscious affectations as well. When he reached across the table between courses and brushed his knuckles against her hand, she didn't pull away. When he did it again, playing his fingers through hers, she stayed still but looked at him sharply.

"Face," she said. He looked at her, startled, then down at his hand. He looked abashed.

"Sorry. Habit."

"This isn't some date, remember? It's dinner. We're meeting BA later."

He nodded. "Sure. How's the Marinara?"

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes pointedly. "Fishy."

He shrugged innocently and poured them both a glass of red. She could still feel the warmth of his skin against hers and half wished he'd reach across the table again. His hand got halfway to hers across the red gingham tablecloth before he pulled it back and wrapped it around his wineglass instead.

It became habit for them to meet at Gino's after she'd finished for the day. She was frankly surprised that Face made room in his no doubt busy calendar to fit in several meals a week with her. Her own social calendar scarcely suffered. One Friday night she'd turned down an invitation from colleagues to join them for drinks, intending to join Face as usual, and Tawnia had looked at her speculatively and grinned. "When do we get to meet the new boyfriend?"

Amy had waved her off and grimaced. "I only wish I had time for a boyfriend, Tawnia! Trust me, there's no-one waiting for me."

Later that evening, Face had smiled at her and she felt a small answering tug in her stomach. Again, she had the sensation of being in way over her head. Face, for his part, mostly kept his hands to himself.

Afterwards, she blamed Dakota Haines, or maybe that dress. It was only a fluke she'd had it with her anyway – she'd tucked it into her capacious bag before the whole Mexican rescue had really taken off, planning to return it to the store unworn. Who knows what made her buy it anyway. In retrospect, it may have been the sensation of Face's eyes on her across the table at Gino's lingering on her skin when she shopped that made her buy such an improbable dress, it may have just been the sale ticket and a sense of bravado. Whatever the reason, she was glad she hadn't taken it out of her bag before heading to the border. BA had escorted her to the van while she changed, hunched and cramped between the seats, digging out the dress, fluffing her hair, worrying about Hannibal while she raided his make-up kits. It was BA she asked to zip her up as she slithered out the van door - any practical movement was difficult in that dress, built for slinking with a blatant disregard for comfort – since he had caught her anyway as she had snagged for a moment on the frame. His eyes widened as he took her in and he smiled hugely as he zipped her up the back. Murdock whistled appreciatively as she and BA joined the other two outside the cantina. Face, busy ruffling his hair and straightening his scrounged jacket, had simply nodded, all business. "Nice dress. From Kiki Taylor?"

She'd nodded, thinking about the con ahead, unable to stop herself wishing Face might have been a little less about the job. Face appraised her with a professional eye. "All set?"

She nodded again. "I can pull a con just as well as you can, remember?" She adjusted her earrings and fiddled with her dress, tugging at the neck and pulling out more cleavage. "Well boys," she cooed, in her best Dakota Haines voice. "Dakota's going to work now. Don't wait up."

She'd slunk through the door and conned that poor schmo to within an inch of his life and slithered away again when she was done, looking forward to putting on some more comfortable shoes.

She'd tried to leave the yacht quietly that evening when everything was over and the day had been won. Her car was parked in the marina lot fifteen metres away and she was looking forward to a hot bath, a brandy before bed and banishing that dress to the back of her wardrobe. BA had gone some time before, citing a breakfast shift at the community centre, leaving the others to the eager ministrations of the bikini girls from the next mooring and Amy was keen to get away from them as well. She sat for a while making awkward conversation before rising silently and reaching for her bag. Face had looked over then and frowned.

"Leaving so soon?"

She shrugged. "I forgot to pack my bikini. Sorry."

"Well, you had no room with that dress in there," Murdock quipped around a glass of frozen margarita. "Want me to walk you to your car?"

Amy shrugged. "I'll be fine. Have a … good night." She flashed a smile. "Goodnight gentlemen, ladies."

She turned away and began walking down the gangway. She half-expected – hoped – that Face might follow her. When he caught up to her she was fumbling with her car keys.

"You okay?" he asked, laying a hand briefly on the small of her back. She turned, casually, and smiled.

"Fine. Looking forward to a bath, actually."

"There's a spa on board," he said proprietarily. She looked at him with arched brows.

"Don't you think it might be a little full right now?"

"Oh, yeah. Right." He grinned at her. "Well, you know how it is."

She did but didn't say it. Instead she opened her car door.

"Anything else?" she asked. _Yes, please say yes._

He glanced around them. "I just wanted to say… good job today." His fingers landed lightly over hers on the frame of her car door.

"Hannibal already said that," she replied. She could smell his aftershave and a faint trace of perfume.

"Well, you did good anyway. And the dress… was nice too. You should wear it again." In the sunset's dimming light, the sudden moment of heat and frank appraisal in his gaze made her catch her breath. "You could stay if you wanted to."

"Templeton!" someone feminine called from the yacht.

She sighed, shook her head and swung into the driver's seat of the car.

"Goodnight, Face. Enjoy the company."

When she looked back, he was bounding up the gangplank with a grin on his face. She stopped at Gino's on the way home to pick up some carbonara and chastise herself over getting as involved as she had. Face was Face. Not only was he a member of the team and therefore off-limits anyway, he was also a manipulative, narcissistic tomcat who could never give her what she needed. Her heart lied when it turned itself over every time he smiled that smile and reached for her hand across the table. Getting this involved was stupid and irresponsible and she should have better self-control than this. That was that. She could and should do better than Face. Daniel Running Bear appeared on the horizon in just the right time and place to convince her of just that. Unfortunately, he didn't stick around long enough to convince anyone else of very much at all.

In retrospect, her last dinner with Face at Gino's should have gone better than it did.

It was the day after they got back from Sebago County when he called her at work, something the entire team avoided doing unless absolutely necessary.

"I have reservations at Gino's," he said, when she picked up. "Still coming? You could wear that dress."

She hesitated.

"Alright then, I'll see what Hannibal's doing," he replied sharply.

"No," she said. "I'll meet you there. I need to talk to you."

She felt sick as she hung up and couldn't completely place her finger on why.

He'd ordered the wine by the time she arrived and poured her a generous glass as she shrugged out of her jacket.

"Good day at the office?" he asked, gesturing elegantly with his wine glass. She didn't answer immediately, hiding herself behind the menu for a minute to gather her thoughts. What exactly _did_ she want to say to him? She took a long swallow of the cabernet Face had selected.

"Sure," she answered. "How was your date with… was it Patricia?"

"Jodie," he answered. "Fine. She's going to hook me up with her cousin. He owns a car dealership, should be able to get me a great deal on that new model Trans Am I've been looking at. I'm thinking of taking her to San Jose for the weekend." He grinned. "The girl, that is, not the car. Well, maybe the car too."

"Sounds fun." She drank some more wine and began breaking a bread stick into pieces on her plate. Face looked at her searchingly. "You're distracted tonight. What's up?"

She shook her head and smiled, suddenly shy. "Nothing. Just thinking about work."

"Mhm. You make me glad I never worked in an office, sweetheart." He topped up her wine glass. "Look, Amy, I just wanted to say… well, I know it was a while ago but I wanted to say thanks for that night after we got back from Ecuador. And for not saying anything about it afterwards." He reached across the table and took her hand, playing his fingers across hers. "I do appreciate it." His gaze was warm and direct, even affectionate. It disarmed her and she couldn't meet it anymore.

She sighed, deciding what she wanted to say, and pulled her hand away.

"Face, what is this?" She gestured around them.

He looked confused, covered with a smile. "It's a place where people go and eat Italian food. Or are you having an existential quandary?" He took her other hand.

She shook her head and pulled her hands back, out of his grasp. "I'm serious. What is," and she pointed to the table, at herself and at him, "this."

He didn't reply but looked disconcerted. She took another gulp of wine.

"Whatever it is, Face, I'm not doing it anymore. Strictly business from here on in, okay? Sorry." She rose, plucked her jacket from the back of the chair. "Enjoy the meal. I'll see you tomorrow. Tell Hannibal I'll be late."

She turned and walked out of the restaurant, her cheeks burning and her stomach turning over. She knew she had done the right thing but wished she could have been more graceful about it.

She was five steps out the door and up the street when Face caught up to her and everything changed again.

He caught her arm and turned her around mid-stride.

"Hey, what on earth was that about, Amy?" He looked upset. She shook her arm loose and backed away.

"Just let me go, Face, please? I can't do it anymore."

"Can't do _what_?" he hissed, exasperated. "What are you talking about?"

"_Us!_" she hissed back. "You and me. Whatever weird thing we have going on between us."

He stopped moving altogether and looked utterly taken aback and she knew she had made a mistake even mentioning it; should have been a _lot_ more graceful to begin with.

"You and me?" he asked. "There's something going on between you and me?"

"Drop it Face. I'm obviously just embarrassing myself and I'd rather not do that." She turned away, face burning, mortified to feel tears rising. She tilted her head up and took a deep breath, willing her eyes to dry up. She was humiliated enough.

"Amy, come on," he said behind her.

"Oh great," she murmured. She felt his hands on her arms, turning her to face him. She looked up at his face, took in his serious, wondering expression. He raised a hand to her cheek and ran a fingertip down her jaw, making her shiver. "Are you saying," he said softly, "that you…"

She closed her eyes. "No… _No_… I guess I do…I'm sorry. It's so _stupid_." She had a sudden thought and looked up at him. " Damn it, Hannibal already thinks I'm a helpless –"

The rest of her sentence was eaten up by his lips on hers and his arms sliding around her waist as he stepped in and held her tightly to him. She snaked her arms around his shoulders, let herself be caught up in the moment, the sensation of his tongue moving across hers, his slight stubble rubbing her chin, the silk of his shirt against the front of her dress. She felt his fingers trace her spine and on her hair, felt him murmur her name against her lips. "Amy…" He rubbed one thumb across her cheek and brushed her hair back. "Face, I…" she began, but couldn't say anymore. She let her body lead her and stepped toward him, tilting her face up and laying another tentative kiss on his lips. When he pulled away from her, stepping backward out of her arms, she felt cold. He looked at her closely for a moment, his expression soft, still with that trace of wonder. Then he rubbed a hand across his face and looked horrified.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Oh hell," he swore. "What the hell was I thinking?"

Her humiliation returned full force. "What?"

He looked at her accusingly. "There's nothing between us. Absolutely nothing."

Humiliation took refuge in anger and she snorted furiously. "Face, you just kissed me! How can you say there's nothing – "

His tone was curt. "This isn't going to happen. You aren't my type."

"What's wrong, my vocabulary too big for you? My skirt too long?" She was mortified. She wanted to hit him, sock him across his handsome face, but contented herself with words. "I knew that letting myself get this close you was a mistake but I never truly understood 'til now how shallow you are."

"What is going on here?" He laughed shortly and took a step backward, hands up, deflecting her words defensively.

She swallowed her wounded pride, deflating suddenly. "What a fool I am."

He looked upset. "Oh come on. Stop being so… emotional."

"Can you blame me?" she asked quietly. "I'm sorry about all of this, Face, I really am. I should never have allowed this to happen."

He was silent for a moment, standing awkwardly. "Well, okay then."

They looked at each other. Amy was suddenly exhausted and longed to be able to just turn around and walk away. She sighed.

"Let's just… leave it at that." She ran a hand over her shirt, compulsively smoothing and neatening. "I need to get out of here." She turned to leave, trembling.

"Amy," he said. She turned back and for a moment his face was unguarded, troubled, his brow creased. She held up a weary hand.

"We have to work together, Face, at least for the time being. So let's just… do that." She tried for a smile and failed. "Goodnight."

She cut to the kerb and hailed a passing taxi. As she closed the door behind her, she saw Face standing on the pavement, one hand running through his hair, arms akimbo, wearing an impenetrable expression.

As far as she was concerned, she told herself sternly, and frequently, it was ended, no matter what her heart did when Face gave her that searching look. Over.


	10. Retrospective: Between Friends

**Retrospective: Between Friends**

He forgot himself. That was the trouble. He very seldom did things without meaning to and when he did it took him by surprise. He forgot sometimes that Amy was who she was. His first thought when they had first met had been _Hmmm… 35-27-38_. His second thought had been _Nice legs_. It didn't occur to him to look at anything else when the legs were _right there._ Then she'd joined the team and his thoughts hadn't strayed in that direction again. Not really. Not too often. Not purposefully, anyway. Not until he kissed her on the sidewalk and she'd told him… And then he'd… _Oh boy, Faceman, you really stood in it this time._

Not too long ago, Amy had come to his apartment – or, rather, the nice penthouse he had managed to find empty at the right time – late at night. Midnight maybe. He'd brought home a girl, as he always did. Needing a pretty girl in his bed was like needing a shower or a hot meal. He just needed it. Trouble was, this girl wouldn't leave his bed.

What was her name: Tiara? Dianna? He forgot too quickly. That was one of his problems, he supposed.

When the doorbell rang he was lying next to the girl – a blonde – trying to figure a way to get her the hell out so he could get some sleep. She was talking, nattering for an hour about her girlfriends and her job and the weather and it was midnight dammit and he'd spent the last two days beating on bad guys and needed some shut eye. She didn't look like shutting up any time soon, resisting every hint and suggestion and charming idea that he could throw at her, and waking him every time he started to drift off. The chime from the front door was a godsend – the woman on the other side of the door had seemed like a favour from the universe.

"Oh, erm, sorry to intrude, Face," Amy had said, raising an eyebrow at his disheveled state. "Having a toga party or did you dress up just for me?"

He looked down at himself and the sheet which was his only chance at dignity in this situation and gave Amy a pained grimace.

"I have a guest."

"Figured as much." She shook her head and held up the files in her hands. "I have these transcriptions for Hannibal, for tomorrow. He asked me to leave them with you."

Face nodded and reached for them a trifle awkwardly, one hand grasping the sheet, holding it carefully closed. He looked back toward the bedroom and had a sudden urge to close the door behind him and walk away with Amy, leaving the blonde in his bed.

"Teeeempletonnn…" came a feminine summons from his bedroom.

Amy snorted with a suppressed chuckle.

"Good night then, Teeeempletonnnn," she said, mimicking the other woman perfectly. She turned away. Face looked at her with a suddenly arising panic.

"Amy, wait, don't go," he said, reaching toward her then hastily grasping at his sheet again. "Stay for a minute. I need you."

She turned back to him, eyebrow raised again, a cold expression on her face. "Very much not interested in whatever you are about to suggest, thanks."

"Uh…" He froze. Did she think – really? He shook his head, struck by a sudden inspiration.

"We're friends right?"

After a frozen moment, she nodded, wary. He shrugged.

"I need your help."

She looked at him expectantly. Face saw how tired she looked under the hallway lighting and he felt guilty for a moment for making her stay.

"See, I have this… guest," he began. Amy nodded. "So I hear," she replied with a smile. "And?"

"Uh… this guest has… over stayed her welcome, so to speak." He leaned toward her and spoke softly and quickly. "_I can't get rid of her."_

Amy snorted in a very unladylike way and covered her mouth quickly with her hand. Face noticed a long scratch across the back of it. She'd done it clambering out of a jeep on their last job and hadn't made a sound. "So?" she asked. "Isn't the 'leave em' part of your 'love em'?" She laughed at him. "I suggest you stew in your own juices, Face."

Face exhaled sharply, suddenly desperate. "Please? I could really use some sleep."

Amy regarded him sharply for a long moment, then sighed, relenting. "Okay then. First and definitely the only and also the last time. Obviously fatigue is overriding my good judgement."

Face smiled at her and clutched the file to his bare chest. "Bedroom's through there."

Amy made a face at him and handed him her bags. She took two steps through the door into the penthouse. "Honey?" she called. "Tempy? What's going on?"

Face frowned at her. _Tempy?_ He mouthed. She shushed him and waved her hand, demanding that he play along.

"Uh, you're home early, kitten," he said loudly.

"Do you have a girl in our bed again?" Amy screeched, barely suppressing a grin. "I have _told_ you and _told_ you!"

She stalked toward the bedroom and flicked on the overhead light. Face heard a squeal and Amy speaking sharply and quickly before the blonde appeared, dressed and disgruntled, in the doorway.

"Templeton?" she asked, gazing at him imploringly. He shrugged.

"Sorry, didn't expect the wife to come home so early."

"Wife?" the girl said quickly, shooting a quick look over her shoulder at Amy, who was leaning against the bedroom door, arms crossed, face impassive. "You never said you were married. Geez, what a scuzz."

The blonde departed hastily with an angry sniff as she passed Face in the doorway and punched the button for the elevator. Face kept his expression carefully sorrowful until the elevator doors had closed on her.

Amy laughed out loud and ran a hand through her hair.

"I should send you a bill, Templeton Peck," she said. "Services rendered and mental suffering."

"Yeah, yeah," Face muttered, uncomfortable with the frankness of her gaze, impressed with her despite himself. She walked to him and patted his chest quickly, twice. "There there. I promise not to tell too many people."

He looked down at her merry expression and almost invited her to stay. The bed was big and she was… _a member of the team, Face, snap out of it, fool. She'd bite your head off for even suggesting it. Twenty. Mile. Hike… Full pack._

He shook his head. "Thanks, you're a doll."

"You owe me one, _Tempy_," she said, collecting her bags and stepping toward the elevator. "See you Wednesday. Hannibal said something about a potential client with a diamond mine. Should be a very exciting day for you." She looked him up and down then grinned widely. "I'd probably wear something more formal. You know, like pants."

He had watched her go. Amy wasn't like any other girl, he knew that. She had this way of looking at him and teasing him that made him aware that she wasn't taken in by his posturing for a single second. It made him nervous but he was glad he didn't have to worry so much about the façade around her.

He wasn't even sure whether she _liked_ him or not.

As he stood on the street outside Gino's watching the tail lights of her taxi disappear into traffic, Face guessed that question had been answered.

He hadn't stopped long enough in the last few weeks to question himself as to his motivations for romancing Amy – _yes, Face, you idiot, romancing. You were using all the tricks you knew would work, weren't you? Probably should have thought that through a little better, right? _ Resolutely, he did not allow himself to think any more on the tricky topic of the reasons for his behaviour. It _had_ been nice to have someone to debrief with at the end of the day who wasn't a part of his unit. Well, not really part of it. Not a man, anyway. Something regular, something relaxing, something approaching normal, that was all he had wanted, he told himself. All he knew was that he felt like he'd just done something unforgiveable without meaning to. To _Amy_. He rubbed at his chest for a moment, conscious of an uncomfortable, hollow sensation, then he headed back into the restaurant to settle the bill.


	11. Retrospective: How It Should Have Ended

**Retrospective Two: How It Should Have Ended**

"Five votes?" Face sounded distraught. "Five votes? How could they have done that? My own pretend home town…"

"Face," BA said shortly, "shut up, man. I want to enjoy my dinner."

They had gone out to eat after returning from the job late in the day. Not to Gino's but to a Chinese restaurant that Murdock liked. Amy was glad of it. She sipped her third glass of wine and listened to Face's griping with her heart full and her mind distracted and spinning. She had called her boss from the restaurant while the others were ordering.

He had some big news for her – they wanted her for the Jakarta office.

Before she left, her editor had pulled her aside and pointedly mentioned that the Jakarta position was still open, waiting for a good application from a well regarded journalist who wouldn't be scared off by a potentially dangerous posting. He'd winked at her. She took it as a good sign and handed him her letter of application three hours later. She didn't know whether she actually wanted to move to another country, to take up the higher exposure and responsibility offered by this position, but the fact that she had been asked to apply had been flattering. More than flattering, it had been exhilarating. That same exhilaration was coursing through her veins like the best Jazz on offer as she worked at containing herself.

Running with the A-Team had taught Amy more than she had ever thought possible about control. She enjoyed control, she had realized, over herself and over the situations in which she found herself – but when you were in the middle of one of Hannibal's plans, control was seldom something you could exercise. Therefore, and mostly thanks to Hannibal, Amy had learned that adaptability was the strongest measure of control that could be applied to any situation. There was always a way out of anything but you had to be flexible enough to find it - the plan was only as good as far as you could deviate from it.

_Control yourself, kid, and you can control any pile you find yourself in. Rolling with the punches means you're still standing and sometimes turning tail means you're still standing too._

More used to plans and structure, she still wasn't sure she was comfortable with it, but she knew that she could do it and enjoy the sense of power it gave her and that, above all else, gave her the confidence to apply for this Jakarta transfer.

Would she accept? She wasn't sure yet – but she had the choice and that was what mattered. She, Amy Allen, could take centre stage for a change if she wanted to.

"Well, I think it was your lovely wife that got you through," Murdock was saying, grinning at Amy. "She's pretty quiet on the topic though."

"Huh?" Amy blanked out. She was still thinking of Jakarta. "I'm not sure."

"Sure of what? You totally fit the part," Murdock replied. "Mrs Morgan, First Lady. Such a lovely couple."

"Mrs Morgan?" Face sounded pained. "I'm the one who got pipped at the post by a criminal."

"You're a criminal as well, remember?" Amy said, unable to resist. "Besides, it was mostly just the wig that made me First Lady material. I felt very…"

"Presidential?" Hannibal asked.

Amy shook her head. "Dowdy. Itchy."

Hannibal shook his head with a gleeful, rueful expression. "Cheap wigs."

Amy grinned, still high from her news. "Don't take it badly Face, it wasn't you they weren't voting for, it was Joe Morgan. You have to admit you were a little unconvincing."

"Unconvincing? I was a paragon," Face groused.

"My point exactly."

Face shot her an extremely dirty look. "Well you married me."

"Oh no," Amy said, surprised but not dismayed to hear a little nasty edge to her voice. It had been building for days. The set up that kept her and Face so close to each other and demanded that they portray intimacy had been wearing and, at times, the cold, careful distance he maintained by throwing up every shield and barrier he could between them had been agonizing. "I married Joe Morgan, the paragon."

"Oh, the paragon, what a wonderful guy," Face replied cattily. Amy was aware of the other three looking from him to her, following the exchange like a tennis match.

"Yes," she went on, her mouth moving without much conscious control from her. "You know, the nice, respectable guy, not the kind who leads a girl on then –"

"It was all just pretend, Amy," Face said with searing finality. "The job's over."

"And a good thing too," Amy said sharply, and then bit her tongue, glaring at her wineglass. Damn. She really didn't want to do this. She probably should have just shut up. Her anger was more with herself than Face and she didn't want to say anything more in front of the others. _Control yourself, Amy. Shut up._

"Uh, guys," Hannibal interrupted, eyes narrowed and shrewd. "I think that's enough."

"Yes," Face said, looking harried. "That's plenty."

"No, no," Murdock said around a mouthful of egg roll. "How edifying. Please continue."

"I agree. That's enough. Sorry Face." Amy drained her wineglass and placed it carefully on the table. "I'm just overtired. I think I'll call it a night."

"Good idea," Hannibal agreed, watching her closely. "BA, why don't you give Amy a lift home?"

As Amy collected her coat, for once not willing to argue with Hannibal's orders, and walked with BA out of the restaurant she saw Hannibal turn grimly to Face.

"Lieutenant, have you been…?"

BA dropped her to the door of her building. She watched him drive away with a pang of something like regret. She _really_ hadn't meant to let that out. The news about the Jakarta job had made her reckless. She would have to apologise tomorrow when her head cleared and she could think clearly about her future with the A-Team.

She turned to the entry and reached into her bag for her keys. Did she even have a future? Things were awkward enough with Face, especially when she broke it off with Daniel so quickly. She may as well have just stamped REBOUND on his head before she sent him packing. _There_ was a situation she had no hope of controlling. Every time she saw Face now her heart did a little flip flop in her chest and her cheeks burned at the memory of the humiliating scene outside Gino's. She owed Templeton Peck nothing, she reasoned, but… she owed the A-Team everything. Everything she had written, everything that had brought her to the attention of the selection board for the Jakarta correspondent role, had been written while she was riding the coat tails of the A-Team. Wasn't that the reason she'd hooked up with them in the first place? The reason she'd stayed? More importantly, could she justify staying near them at all, with Decker dangerously close to putting the pieces together and using them to build a trap for the team with her as the bait? He was now far too close for comfort and she was losing all plausible deniability. And where the hell were her keys?

She thrust her hand farther into the corner recesses of her handbag, peering into the opening, when a hand closed over her elbow. Without thinking she drove it up hard into the solar plexus of the man standing next to her, following through with her balled fist to his face. He released her and doubled over with a surprised grunt. She stepped back, preparing to land her high heel on his instep and punch him again when his hand shot up and arrested hers that she realized whom she had hit.

"Face?"

"Uh huh," he gasped, and released her.

She hesitated for a moment, then laid her hands tentatively on his shoulders, straightening him up. "Oh, geez, Face. I didn't realize it was you. What were you doing?"

"Ow," he said through his hands, which were cupped around his nose. "Who taught you that?"

"BA," she said. "He said I might need to escape a mugger."

Face gave her a pained look. "I'm not a mugger."

"Well I didn't know that!" She sighed, exasperated. "Let me see."

He submitted to her careful probing, flinching when she got to the bridge of his nose.

"It's not broken," she said. "But I'll give you some ice."

"Gee, thanks," he replied sarcastically. She found her keys in her coat pocket and led him up to her apartment.

"Thanks to you," Face said bitingly as she opened her door and stood aside for him to enter, "Hannibal gave me a lecture on fraternizing. He thinks I tried to seduce you."

Amy closed the door behind them. "So you thought you'd come over and finish the fight?"

She dropped her bag and coat onto the floor and crossed into her kitchen to find some ice. When she emerged, Face was sitting on the arm of her couch, rubbing his chest where she'd elbowed him.

"You sure took BA's teaching to heart," he said, accepting the ice pack from her. "But if I'd been a real mugger, I wouldn't have let you hit me."

Amy ignored that. She looked at him closely.

"So why did you follow me?"

Face sighed and held the ice pack to his face. "I wanted to apologise."

"Apologise?" That was unexpected. Face didn't often apologise. She sat down next to him.

"Yes. For what happened in the restaurant."

"Which one?" she asked before she could stop herself. He lifted the ice pack long enough to shoot her a wary sidelong glance. He didn't reply.

"You know," she said after a moment, "when I first met you, I thought, 'Trouble, keep clear.' I'd met a thousand guys like you in college, all charm and a nice smile, and one track minds. I steered pretty clear of them."

"That's funny," he said without looking at her. "I thought the same thing about you. Only, a thousand girls."

"And you didn't steer clear."

He shrugged with a little half smile. "Those were the days. Only, you're wrong about that. College was when I had Leslie."

"Oh." Amy leaned back and regarded him. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone? He lifted the ice pack again and smiled at her, his gaze lingering just a little. Her heart registered a little hollow tug. Oh, yes, that was why.

"I think I should probably go," he said. "I've apologized. You've hit me. It's time to call it a night." He handed her the ice pack and stood up. She lay it on the couch and followed him to the door.

"You know," he said, his hand on the handle. He turned to face her, opening the door as he did so. "I thought you did a good job as Mrs Joe. You run a decent con."

"I'm… sorry you lost the election," she replied. "I'll have a word with Hannibal."

"Oh, would you?" he said sarcastically. She frowned at him, annoyed.

"Clear things up. Make sure he knows we're just friends," she said firmly. "I'm doing you a favour, although at this moment I have no idea why."

He didn't reply. Something in his face made her pause and hold her breath.

"Friends," he repeated slowly, sounding thoughtful. "Good. Good for us."

"Good friends," she repeated, suddenly breathless. He turned and opened the door but paused and turned back to her, wearing an unreadable expression.

"Good night, Face." She reached out and laid a hand on his chest. The distance between them seemed to shrink, felt thick and suddenly magnetic. Amy looked up into his face, feeling her cheeks flush, gratified when she saw his do the same. She clenched her hand into a fist to stop herself reaching up to brush those five strands of hair off his forehead. Her heart gave her that little tug again, making her mouth go dry. No, she thought, I'm done with this. Keep clear. I'm done…

"I think," he began, swallowing, "I think I'd better…"

"Yes," she whispered, leaning into his space, sliding her hand down his arm and into his larger one, unaware she was doing it.

"Hannibal's gonna be mad," Face breathed, putting a decisive hand behind her neck and pulling her in for a kiss as he closed the door with his other hand. Amy wrapped her arms around his waist as he pushed her against the door frame and kissed her hard, making her head spin with the suddenness of her reaction to him. He felt warm and solid under her fingers, his hair crisp, his shirt just a distraction. She felt a slow, delicious urgency building under her skin as he ran his tongue over hers and let one hand drift past her waist as the other pressed her tightly to his chest.

She tugged his polo shirt out of his waistband and let her hands slide beneath it, over his warm skin, across his back. He let out a barely audible moan and shifted his attention to her neck, kissing and nibbling down to her collarbone.

His other hand left her waist and stroked firmly across the curve of her ribcage to rest lightly on her breast. She arched into him.

"Oh God, Face," she whispered. A tiny corner of her mind was trying to rationally process what was happening, what was probably about to happen, but her response to his touch overrode it completely. All those months of wondering about this… and here she was with his lips on her skin and his clever fingers… she sighed and trembled beneath his hands and curled one leg around his. He reached down and hooked a hand under her knees, pulling her into his arms as he turned around and headed for the couch. She pulled him down on top of her, aware of his arousal pressed against her, aware of her own heat. Suddenly she was gasping with shock as the abandoned ice pack connected with her shoulder blade. She flinched away from the cold, knocking her forehead into Face's nose. He pulled back, hands going to his face, eyes pressed shut in pain.

"Ouch!"

"Oh. Oh no!" she gasped, reaching out to pull him to her, to lay some gentle kisses on his nose and cheeks, to remind him what they were doing. He reached behind her, colour high, and swept the ice pack onto the carpet.

"Where were we?" he said in a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine as he pushed her back down onto the cushions. He reached for her, undoing the top button of her shirt with practiced fingers, then another and another until he was sliding his hands across her bare skin and pulling her to him for another long firm kiss. She reached eagerly for him as he pushed her away for a moment and sat up to shuck off his own shirt. It caught on his chin for a moment as he pulled it off and he had to work it off over his head, finally emerging with his hair ruffled and his eyes bright. She tentatively ran her fingers through the light hair on his chest as he caught her gaze and held it. He slid a hand up her spine to her bra clasp, the other one cupping her cheek as she leaned into his lips and ran her tongue over them. She moved into his embrace, trying to slip a leg over his lap to straddle him. After a moment's struggle, he held her steady while she moved ungracefully into his lap. He smiled delightedly at her new position as she steadied herself and he undid her bra. She arched her back and sighed as he slipped his hand up under the wire and squeezed her gently.

Then he stopped.

She looked down at him. He was staring at her with a clear, serious expression, his hand still on her breast, inches from his face.

"What?" she asked huskily. She let her hand fall over his, stroking down his wrist.

"Amy…" his voice was rough, his cheeks flushed. He shook his head. "I can't."

Her stomach clenched. He removed his hands from her skin gently. She went to grab them back, her hands moving of their own frantic accord, but he caught her wrists and held them.

"Amy, I can't. I'm sorry."

She slid off his lap to the sofa, reaching behind herself to do her bra back up, cheeks burning. Her mind was spinning but she snapped to awareness with his words. He gave her a hectic, helpless look and leaned back with a sigh, covering his eyes with one hand.

"I know the rules. I can't. And it's…" he trailed away.

Amy snatched her shirt from the floor and began to slip it on, her heart in her throat.

"It's what?"

He paused and looked at her for a moment. "It's you. I mean, it's not you, it's me. I can't, not with you. It's not going to happen."

Amy didn't reply. She handed him his shirt and picked up the ice pack, standing up slowly. She felt her cheeks flaming with humiliation and disappointment as she crossed to the kitchen and opened the freezer, letting the chill air cool her face as she slowly replaced the ice pack. When she turned around, Face was standing by the front door.

"I should go," he said quietly. She swallowed, her throat tight.

"Why?" she asked, hating herself for it. He looked uncomfortable.

"You're… Amy, you're not the kind of girl I…"

There was a moment of horrible silence between them.

"I'm leaving the team," she said finally in a small voice. "I'm taking a job overseas."

"You're what?"

"I'm leaving the team," she said, tasting the words, trying on their meaning. It felt good. Face looked upset. Yes, it felt good.

He didn't reply. He nodded once, slowly, his expression resigned and unhappy, and then he turned and let himself out.

The team said their official goodbyes the day before she left. BA looked misty eyed and Murdock gave her a hug that lasted for a full minute. Hannibal, never one for demonstration, gave her a quick squeeze and a commemorative cigar. When she turned to Face, he hesitated before slipping his arms around her loosely for an unconvincing embrace that had even BA regarding him oddly.

"Well, goodbye," he said, wearing his unconvincingly charming smile. "Try to stay out of trouble." She just nodded, made uncomfortable by the way the sensation of his arms around her lingered on her skin. She turned then and walked away, back to her car, regretful tears in her eyes. She'd miss them all. She'd grown to love them all - and she doubted her developing taste for adventure would be properly satisfied again.

Face she refused to think about at all – which made things awkward when he turned up at the airport the next day to see her off. Her mother had spotted him first.

"Isn't that one of the A-Team?" her mother asked, nodding in Face's direction disapprovingly. It didn't surprise Amy that her mother recognized Face. She kept a scrapbook, still, of every article Amy published and recently a lot of them had featured that very same face that now regarded her warily across the concourse area at LAX. Her mother and father had kissed her then, warned her against too much foreign food, and becoming involved with a foreign man, extracted many promises to keep in touch and be home by Christmas, and let her go. Face was waiting for her by the gate to the departure lounges. His appearance made her heart feel like it had a strangle hold on her stomach, brought back tinges of past humiliation and present anger and a memory of his kiss. It reminded her why she was leaving. There were a lot of reasons and most of them were complicated - and one of them was something she would never admit to again. His expression made her wary.

"Face? What are you doing here?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye." He assumed a smooth jocularity that Amy could see through at once. "Did you pack that dress?"

"I gave it to goodwill, actually. Couldn't you have said goodbye yesterday? I mean -"

"You leaving," he interrupted. "Is it because of what happened? You know, between us."

She sighed. "I've worked my whole career to get here. This is a real promotion for me, Face. Besides," she said, not able to resist. "Not everything is about you."

He didn't respond. She glanced through the gate. It looked like boarding was beginning.

"I have to go, Face." She looked at him closely, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his briefly. He stood still as she kissed him. As she pulled away, he brushed a hand against her hip, fingers tangling for a moment in the fabric of her jacket, sliding inside and across the plane of her back.

"Amy, - "

"Bye, Face," she said firmly, cutting him off. "Thanks for coming."

He nodded, released her and smiled a small smile at her, and she turned away and walked onto the plane.

In retrospect, it was the only way things could have gone and…

… it almost ended there – except that it didn't, and five years later Amy found herself in trouble and only part of it was caused by criminals out for her head…


	12. Betrayal Redux

**Chapter Seven: Betrayal Redux**

After her exchange with Face, Amy felt lighter, like something had shifted and she was in control of herself again. They spent several hours sifting through her notes, Amy creating a separate pile for anything that might concern Lestari or a US expansion, or anything else remotely possibly relevant. Face and Frankie pored over the things she handed to them for anything that might make Lestari appropriately nervous. Finally Amy reached the end of anything resembling patience and rose with a frustrated moan.

"I don't get it. Lestari is hardly here, and then only in mentions that could hardly concern him… I'm making some coffee. Frankie? Face?"

Both men looked up and nodded. She padded into the kitchen and reached for the kettle. As she turned on the tap to begin to fill it, the phone rang. Without thinking, she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Who is this?" It was a woman, an older woman who sounded puzzled rather than angry.

"Who were you after?" Amy asked,

"My son, Bosco Baracus. He gave me this number if I wanted to talk to him."

Amy smiled. She'd heard about BA's mother from Murdock. "You're BA's mom? My name is Amy. I'm a friend of his. He's not in at the moment, but he'll be back soon."

The older lady chuckled, a sound that made Amy think of pie and cushions and Thanksgiving dinner. "Well, if you're a friend of the boys, I'm pleased to meet you. Please ask Scooter to call me when he can but tell him its not urgent at all."

"Of course I will. I always knew BA had a mother like you somewhere."

She hung up, smiling, filled the kettle and flicking it on. She poked her head into the dining room.

"Scooter?" she asked, keeping back a chuckle. Face grinned.

"That was Mrs B, was it? Well, don't call BA that to his face. He'll flatten even you if you do."

Amy smiled broadly. "Kettle's on. Frankie – milk?"

He nodded. She turned to go. Face cleared his throat.

"What about me?"

She smirked at him. "I do remember how you take your coffee, Face."

"Huh." He flashed her a grin of genuine pleasure. "Well how about that?"

She turned on her heel, suddenly discovering a spring in her step, and located the mugs and the instant coffee just as the kettle began to whistle and familiar roar of the van came from the drive outside.

BA and Murdock's bickering preceded them through the door. Amy didn't need to hear the words to smile at the familiarity of the rhythms. She reached into the old refrigerator and pulled out a milk bottle which held nothing but a few, nearly solid drops. She frowned, but brightened as Murdock dumped a few paper sacks of groceries onto the counter behind her.

"Milk?" she asked. He didn't reply, but pushed an entire bag full of milk cartons toward her. BA entered the kitchen with Hannibal in tow. Amy looked up and smiled benignly at the big man.

"Got enough milk here BA?"

He grunted assent, reaching for a carton and squeezing it open. Amy watched with fascinated horror as he gulped half of it down before pausing for air. She took another carton and turned back to the coffee mugs.

"Oh, by the way, Scooter, your mother called."

She heard him splutter as Hannibal and Murdock began to snicker.

Since the table was half covered in piles of paper and notebooks, Hannibal convened the meeting in the lounge room. Face was sprawled across the couch, but swung his legs down as Amy entered and handed him his coffee.

"What've we got, Johnny?" Frankie asked, eager to look at things that weren't Amy's notes. Hannibal opened a folder and fanned a series of black and white surveillance photographs across the carpet in front of him. Murdock made an impressed noise.

"Wow. Stockwell's come through on this one."

Hannibal mumbled something unintelligible, nonplussed. Then he seized one and held it up triumphantly.

"Ah hah! Here he is, gentlemen and lady. Let's have a round of applause for Mr Cyrus Lestari himself."

He handed the picture to Face, who leaned forward so that Amy and Frankie could see as well. Amy was arrested by the face of the man in the picture. She wondered if it looked maybe a little familiar, but she just couldn't place it. He was a middle aged man with thin cheeks and hair pulled back into a short pony tail. He wore a business suit and reflective sunglasses. The picture was a close up of his head as he turned to speak to someone. There were other, shadowy people in the near background, out of focus. Amy squinted, trying to make them out, trying to recall why the man's face looked familiar. Face passed the picture away, handing it on to BA and Murdock as Hannibal handed him another photograph. Amy was still trying to figure out where she knew Lestari's face from, if she knew it at all, as BA and Murdock leaned over the picture. She felt Face tense beside her as he took the second image from Hannibal.

"Uh… Oh… "

Amy turned to look at him, sparing only a glance at his suddenly disconcerted expression as she leaned in to look at the photo in his hands. He pulled it away from her gaze, moving his hand and the photo down beside the arm of the couch.

"Uh, Amy," he began. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? Let me see."

Wordlessly he slowly handed her the photo. She took it and instantly recognized the man Lestari was talking to. Her throat closed over.

"Hannibal," she croaked, "have you seen these?"

"Not closely," he replied, shooting a questioning glance at Face.

"It's him," Amy murmured, returning her attention to the image in her hands. "I should have known. How could I - ?"

"Who?" Frankie asked.

"Richard. Richard Ramelan." Amy could hardly say his name. "A man I know in Jakarta. At least I thought so. I thought he… Oh." She let the picture fall to her lap and regarded it with dawning horror.

"Did I have _any_ friends there that weren't setting me up?"

Face patted her shoulder. "There now. I'm sure you had lots of friends who weren't involved in organized crime."

"Although I didn't like the look of that Kinta lady," Murdock opined with a glint in his eye. "She seemed a little too… friendly."

Amy had to chuckle at his expression, even as she began to give in to the urge to feel seriously sorry for herself. She looked down at the picture again. Lestari was talking to Richard as they got out of a black town car in what looked like a highrise parking lot. He was wearing the same suit that he wore when he took her to the Simba Club, the night they were nearly kidnapped. She frowned in confusion, thinking of that night. Richard had seemed genuinely upset by their predicament, Jerry and Hal hadn't seemed to recognize him at all. If he really was highly placed in the White Snakes then… She looked at Hannibal.

"Who does Stockwell say Richard is?"

Hannibal shrugged. "He doesn't know. His Ables took these about a week ago."

Amy nodded. That would be timed with the last 'business trip' that Richard had taken, the one he had arrived back from the day the kidnapping attempt went down.

"How did you meet this guy?" Hannibal asked. Amy shrugged, unwilling to relinquish the picture to Face when he held out his hand for it.

"Richard owns Rachmad Finance, a big news brokerage firm based in Jakarta, but with branch offices all over the East Asia region. He's also got controlling interests in some sort of export business. Brady and something. I was following up a lead on the money laundering angle and I came across his name in connection with some funds that had been moved through his Singapore branch by the Snakes last year, some sort of insider trading deal, laundering, dirty investments that sort of thing. He himself had been cleared of any involvement by the investigation but the branch manager was charged and sent down. I went to talk to him about it."

Face looked askance at her. "And that in itself didn't set any bells ringing?"

Amy shook her head. "I pulled everything I could on him. He seemed squeaky clean."

"Squeaky cos he turned out to be a big rat," BA commented.

"As it turns out," Amy agreed, staring at the image with blank horror. "He seemed so… charming, so real. After I spoke to him about the incident, he called me again and we went out. Together. A lot." She shook her head. "I thought he really…"

"Let me guess," Hannibal began. "He held several charming, real conversations with you about your story?"

"No, not really." Amy swallowed a bitter taste in her mouth. "I mean, he tried to bring it up a few times, how it was going, who I'd been speaking to. He actually offered to introduce me to a few more people who had had dealings with the Snakes in the past. After I told him I wasn't going to discuss it with him, he let it go. I had no idea he was a member of the White Snakes. None." She peered at his face in the picture again, still a little unwilling to believe it completely. "He seemed so… genuine. We talked about everything. He wanted to come with me next time I went back to LA, to meet my family. He said he didn't have any family of his own and asked all about mine. He seemed…" She trailed off, thinking with growing horror about how much she had shared with him.

"And you… dated him?" Face asked slowly.

Amy looked at him bleakly and said nothing.

"Okay, so this guy turns out to be an associate of Lestari." Hannibal sounded thoughtful. "We can't be sure of his position within the organization or his role in this LA expansion."

"He might not even be a member of the Snakes," Frankie pointed out. "They might just use his business to shift funds, like you said."

"Was he ever alone in your apartment?" Hannibal asked. "He might have been looking for something."

Amy thought for a moment, and nodded. "Yes, once."

She felt Face shift beside her and clear his throat. She didn't look at him. "He came to pick me up for dinner last week and I hadn't finished getting ready yet. I left him to wait while I showered and dressed. I guess, maybe twenty minutes."

Hannibal pursed his lips. "Well, if he looked he didn't find it. You're still a liability."

"But, Hannibal, Richard can't be all that high up," Amy pointed out. "Those two guys tried to kidnap us."

"They may not have known him," Murdock said. Amy raised her eyebrows in a question.

"We trailed those guys," Face said. "I felt them out, spoke to them about investing in a movie. They seemed pretty small fry. They'd probably never even heard of Ramelan before."

"But he was more scared than I was," Amy repeated. "Hal waved a gun at him and he nearly panicked. And Hal and Jerry knew about the hit," she said, realizing, remembering. "So they can't have been that small."

"So maybe he's just a banker," Hannibal said. "Or maybe he's he secret head of the White Snakes, or maybe he's a pastry chef and we've got him all wrong. Whatever he is, he's an unknown quantity."

"And you dated him," Face repeated accusingly. Amy threw the picture at his face.

"Shut up. Just shut up." She didn't raise her voice, but she made sure she sounded as angry as she was. First Chokro, now this. She didn't need Face as well.

Hannibal regarded her for a moment then glanced at his watch. "Why don't you take a break?"

BA rumbled agreement. "It's nearly dinner time anyway. C'mon Murdock, let's rustle up some grub." Frankie went with them.

Amy slid off the couch to her knees and started to shuffle through the photos on the floor. Hannibal closed his hand over hers and glanced at Face over her head.

"Who are you looking for?" he asked.

"Anyone else I know," Amy muttered. "My mother, maybe."

"I doubt she's there," Hannibal said drily.

Amy thought for a moment, working on calming herself down. "I need to call my mother, actually. She'll raise the alarm if I stop answering in Jakarta."

Hannibal studied her then nodded. "Well, this line should be okay. Don't give anything away. Don't put her in danger."

Amy nodded and retreated to the kitchen where BA was already peeling potatoes. She could see Murdock and Frankie through the patio doors, hovering over a barbecue in the back yard. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up the phone and dialed her mother's number. The phone picked up after five rings.

"Hello? Antonia speaking." Her mother was panting, like she had run to the phone.

"Mom?" Amy was glad to hear her mother's voice, her way of answering the phone. It was a primal, childlike relief, but it helped her steady herself. "How are you?"

"Amy? Oh thank god!" Her mother sounded worried, panicky even.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"Oh Amy, I have some bad news for you. Where are you? Are you back in LA?"

Amy felt her stomach begin to churn. "I flew in this morning, following a story. How did you know? What's wrong?"

"I heard from your friend Richard this morning. From the news room. Did you give him this number?"

Amy went cold. "Richard? Richard Ramelan in Jakarta? Um… no. no, I didn't give him your number. Only my friend Atin has your number, from when I came home last Christmas. You remember her from your visit."

"Well, he called. Honey, it's about your friend Atin. I'm so sorry to tell you this..."

Amy felt sick. She felt like she might drop the phone. "Oh God…"

"Oh, Amy. Atin is dead. She and her husband were found yesterday. Richard told me it was a home invasion. I wish you would move back to LA. It's safer here."

Amy felt a sob working its way up her throat and couldn't stop it from emerging. "Oh God. Mom, I'm… so sorry you had to tell me that."

"Amy," her mother said, her voice sounding like she was on the edge of tears as well. "Are you in some sort of trouble? Your friend Richard said… well, he said you were with the A-Team again. I thought you said they were dead."

Amy couldn't reply at first. Her throat had closed over and she had to breathe deeply several times before she could say anything.

"Mom, I'm following a story. I won't say it isn't a little risky, but I'm not in any danger. And yes," she said, suddenly wanting to hang up and scream. "Yes, the A-Team is dead. I'm with some colleagues."

"Well… this Richard said he had some documents that had come for you, said it was very important, something for the story you are working on. I'm getting him to send it here express air courier and I'll forward it on to you. Where are you?"

"Oh, Mom." Amy was speechless for a moment. "You gave him your address?"

She wrestled for control, breathing deeply again with the receiver pressed into her shoulder. She forced herself to speak, to sound less panicked.

"Mom, I need to go. I'll call you again tonight. But I'm fine, okay? Thanks for letting me know about Atin." Her voice broke on her friend's name. "If Richard calls again, just… hang up. Don't talk to him." With a white knuckled grip on the receiver, she replaced it into its cradle.

"Hey, Amy, you okay?" It was BA. He came up behind her and touched her shoulder. "What's happened?"

She didn't move, didn't turn around. Instead she leaned into the wall and let the tears come. She who prided herself on her composure, on her controlled exterior, she was shaking and dripping everywhere in front of BA. She felt him lean against the wall beside her and put one big hand on her back. She wanted to tell him about Atin and how her mother had spoken to Richard. She couldn't make a sound.

"What's happened?" she heard Hannibal ask from behind her. "You said Ramelan's name. Did he call your folks?"

She didn't speak. She let BA put his arm around her shoulders. After a moment, she nodded.

"Atin's dead," she croaked out. She felt like her throat was going to set hard like cement. "Chokro's dead. Richard knows where my parents are."

"They're cleaning up loose ends," Hannibal said after a minute.

"Who's cleaning?" Murdock asked as he opened the sliding door and came into the house. "Where's the potatoes?" He paused and took in the scene. "What's happened?"


	13. Connection

**Chapter Eight: Connection**

Amy turned away from men around her, fighting to keep back the tears which came anyway. After a minute, she began to feel a little calmer, and was able to breathe deeply, regain her precious scraps of self control. When she turned back the small kitchen was host to a crowd as Face and Frankie joined the others.

"You okay now?" BA rumbled.

She nodded shakily and brushed the hair out of her face. "Sorry. I just lost it."

Hannibal looked at her grimly. "What happened to your mother?"

Amy shook her head, sniffing. Murdock handed her a tissue. "Nothing… yet. Richard called her. He must have found her number at Atin's apartment. He told her Atin and Chokro were dead. He said it was a home invasion."

"Sure it was," Frankie said.

"My Mom gave him her address," Amy said quietly. "They know where my parents are, Hannibal." She wiped at her nose. "What are we going to do now?"

"We're going to eat dinner," Hannibal replied with comforting decisiveness. "And then you're going to call your folks again from a payphone and suggest they clear out for a while. Tell them whatever you have to." He looked grim. "They're trying to draw you out. And it confirms that Ramelan is involved, more than just a money man."

"God, I feel so stupid," Amy said, feeling slow and drowsy from her outburst. Face crossed from the kitchen doorway and came to stand next to her.

"Hey," he said. "We've all done stupid things."

Murdock snorted. "Yeah, man. Remember that actress girl from a few years back that you were giving 'acting lessons' to? That blonde one? Stupid."

Face made a pained noise as Murdock chuckled. The tension in the room broke.

BA stepped decisively away from her. "I'm hungry. Murdock, put those steaks on, man. Let's eat."

"Yes, indeed," Murdock agreed. "What the girl needs is meat. Real meat. Cooked by a consummate chef, seasoned to perfection, cut from only the happiest of cows… right. Sorry. Shutting up."

Amy managed a watery smile at Hannibal before going upstairs to wash her face.

In the privacy of the bathroom, with her face pressed into the green towel, she let herself cry out the last of it. She let out her anger, her fear and grief, her humiliation and the shock of the last seventy two hours. After a while, her sighs became hiccups and she stood up to regard herself in the mirror. Her whole face was red and puffy and stiff. She had never been an attractive crier. With the scab on her lip and the fading bruise on her cheek, the overall effect was rather hideous, she thought, and bent to run some cold water onto a facecloth. As she pressed it to her face, glad of the relief brought by the cold on her skin, she thought of something. A connection began to work itself out in her mind… Right there. That's what she needed… When she first met Richard, she'd been following the money laundering aspect of the story, and happened upon the Singapore investigation. Richard himself had been cleared by the investigation – the blame had fallen on the manager of the Singapore branch office, who was indicted and sent to prison. There had been something that had stuck in Amy's imagination about that incident, something she had always meant to come back to. When she had tried to locate the man's family for comment and background information, she hadn't been able to find them at all. She'd also attempted to locate Perkasa himself but had found doors and official channels closed firmly in all directions. Richard assured her that the penal system was inaccessible at the best of times, and that Perkasa's family had probably just moved to escape the infamy. She had allowed herself to be convinced at the time, distracted by his promises to set her up with some better leads in the finance sector and, and she flinched to admit it, his flattering attention. Thinking hard, Amy ran the cloth under cold water again and rubbed it across the back of her neck. If Richard was involved with the White Snakes – and the thought, coupled with the inevitable sense memory of his hands on her skin, made her shudder uncontrollably – then he may have been more deeply involved in the Singapore operation than she had originally been able to discover. She forced herself to stand still, to calm her mind which had begun to move quickly from one fragment of memory to another, while her breathing became regular again and the cool cloth made her face more presentable. Had she kept those notes and clippings? Of course she had. She could picture them, bound with a red rubber band, tucked in the bottom of the box. She hadn't pulled them out because … well, just because. Richard loomed in her mind again, smiling and pulling her in for a kiss. She pushed the image away savagely and threw the cloth into the sink. Time to start putting the pieces together again.

She half ran down the stairs to the dining room table. She could hear the guys outside, talking quietly around the barbecue. She couldn't hear what they were saying but she didn't care. She crossed to the box and upended it roughly, seizing the small bundle of notes that represented her investigation into the Singapore incident, the trail that had led her to Richard Ramelan. She pulled off the rubber band and sat cross legged on the floor beside the table, searching for the origin of that trail, the clipping from the daily that all the foreign reporters scanned every day for breaking stories. _There_. She found it, folded neatly and tucked between two index cards. She flipped it open and began to scan it, stumbling over her translation. She would start again, reconstruct the leads. There had to be something she could follow here. Her eyes hit the bottom of the clipping and something clicked inside her head. There. She caught her breath and felt her jaw drop. Index cards and notes fell from her lap as she sprang up and crossed to where the surveillance photos were still spread across the lounge room floor. She knelt and located the picture she was looking for. There. She felt a flash of genuine pleasure, a sense of control she hadn't felt in days. She clutched both the clipping and the photo and passed through the kitchen to the patio doors. The team looked up as she cleared her throat. Hannibal looked at her expectantly.

"Gentlemen," she said, holding up the clipping and its accompanying picture with one hand. "Meet Mr Bastoro Perkasa, unfortunate ex-manager of the Singapore branch office of the Rachmad Financial Group." She held up the surveillance photo in her other hand. "Also known more recently as Cyrus Lestari."

Hannibal gave her an exaggerated golf clap. "Nice work, Amy." His grin was reflected on four other faces as she herself beamed at them. "Real nice work."

She had wanted to go back, to dive into that small sheaf of papers and cards and not emerge until she had a few nails for Richard's coffin. Lestari's coffin. Either or. Something, at least, that would explain why she was suddenly hiding from a hit squad, something she could throw at them. Instead she let BA steer her over to the small plastic outdoor table and make her sit down and wait for the steak to finish cooking. After seemingly subsisting on coffee and sandwiches for the last few days, a real meal was suddenly an incredibly tempting prospect. Even so, she had to stop herself from running inside and grabbing those blessed papers, reading them all as she ate.

"So Lestari and this other fella – Perkasa? – are the same guy," Frankie managed around a mouthful. Amy nodded.

"Looks like." She was rushing her meal, eager to get back and find some more pieces to put together. "I'm thinking that he took the fall when the authorities managed to shut down the Singapore operation."

"Lose Singapore in return for LA?" Hannibal posited. Amy nodded.

"That's where I am right now," she replied. "I need to look through that particular pile of material tonight and reconstruct where I was going with it all before Richard diverted me." It rankled at her just how easily she had been persuaded to let that avenue lead into others before she had played it out. Richard had put effort into distracting her, she saw now, but she had allowed it to happen. In fact he had avoided it in conversation afterwards, something she had noted but put down to his sense of thwarted honour, or his desire to avoid her journalistic interest in an embarrassing incident. When she had brought it up with him the week before, he had looked downright angry about it, so she had changed the topic and let it drop.

"Mhm. Must have been some diversion," Face commented, finishing his glass of water. "With this and what Stockwell gave us, we have… well, we have a couple of photos."

"I haven't finished yet," Amy said, taking umbrage at his tone. "I've only just begun to put this together. I'll find something."

Unable to resist the urge, she carefully laid her fork down and collected the clipping and the photo.

"Find out everything you can from what you have, Amy," Hannibal ordered. "We've got things to do tomorrow. "

She brandished the clipping at him. "I'm going back to work. I have to find something you can use to bring this guy down."

"Cyrus Lestari or Richard Ramelan?" Hannibal asked blandly.

Amy didn't answer him. She turned and headed back into the house.

An hour later Amy was confident that she would be able to reconstruct her leads to Singapore, be able to figure out why she was such a wanted woman, give Hannibal something to give to Stockwell, to use against Richard and Lestari. She reorganized all her notes into new piles and began to comb through them again with a new purpose. Now that she knew more what she was looking for, reconnecting the dots was not as pointless as her previous search through these bits of information. She was frowning over a handful of shipping manifests when Murdock and Frankie interrupted her.

"Hey there brainiac," Frankie greeted her. She smiled up at him distractedly.

"Hannibal sent us to drive you into town," Murdock said, tugging the papers out of her grasp. "To call your folks, remember?"

With a start of guilt, she did remember. She had gotten so caught up in finally being able to take control of this that she had forgotten about needing to warn her parents about Richard. She had forgotten about Atin and Chokro. A small stab of grief hit her and she scrambled to her feet.

"Yes, sure. Thanks." She took the manifests back from Murdock. "Is Hannibal still in the yard?"

Frankie nodded. Amy shook the paperwork at him. "I think I've got a way in. I think I've found a chink in their armour." She headed out to find Hannibal leaving Murdock and Frankie looking at each other.

"She got the Jazz," Frankie commented, an admiring expression on his face.

Murdock shook his head thoughtfully. "No, not Jazz."

Hannibal frowned at the manifests when she shoved them into his hands.

"Brady Palms," he read. "Import export. Based in San Pedro. What am I looking at?"

Amy pointed impatiently. "Here… and here. Look at who's signing these?"

Hannibal squinted and held the flimsy carbon copy up to the outside light. "Looks like… Naim Kalat." He flicked through them. "All of these are signed by this Kalat character."

"Naim Kalat now works for Richard which is where I ran across him. Previously, he was working as a shipping clerk at the Singapore office. The one that got shut down." Amy winked ostentatiously. "He has a weakness for brunettes."

Hannibal looked at Amy, waiting for her to reveal her prestige. She obliged and handed him the last forms. He squinted at it, then grinned. "All of them signed by Kalat… except these ones. Bastoro Perkasa, we meet again," Hannibal commented.

He handed it to Face and BA who had been studying the other sheets. Face took in the signature with raised eyebrows.

"I know where this office is, Hannibal," BA said. "It's not far from the port. There's a warehouse nearby we used one time."

"The cargo list is different on Perkasa's forms as well." Face looked up from the form he had been reading. "Here, everything that was signed off by this Kalat guy is pretty standard stuff, listing manufactured auto parts and their origins. I'm willing to bet there's nothing off about them at all." He gestured to the forms. "This one here…and this one - this one's got half the crates as parts, and half as… carpet samples. Five crates of carpet samples. Shipped from… looks like Singapore. Destination listed as LA, initialed as AI… something… it's unclear. No insurance. Shipped recently – maybe we can intercept them."

"Drugs?" BA asked.

"Possibly. Possibly funny money." Hannibal looked thoughtful.

"Wouldn't be so hard," Face commented. "Bring it in here, transfer it as cargo to a private vessel bound for the Caymans or maybe darkest Colombia, it never leaves the docks. Maybe get a customs guy in your pocket. Clean it up in an unregulated clearing house, wire it back as legitimate funds."

Amy shook her head. "The Snakes are more sophisticated than that. They'll have just wired their capital through from Jakarta, all perfectly clean." She chewed a nail thoughtfully and stared at the papers. "This will be something else."

"Face, BA," Hannibal said decisively, "I feel an urge to visit the port tomorrow." He twirled an imaginary moustache. "Earl Hamilton the fourth has some urgent cargo shipping needs."

Face groaned. "Why not let me do the talking this time? Last time we got shot at."

Hannibal just twinkled at him, grinning broadly, and shook his head. "No more operating in the dark. I'd like to get to know what's going on here."

Face shot him a glare and folded the manifests together. "How'd you get these anyway, Amy?"

She smiled at him. " This American lady I know, Dakota Haines. She acquired them from Mr Kalat at Rachmad Finance a week before you showed up. He was looking elsewhere."

"I thought you told Richard that you dropped the story," Face said. Amy shrugged.

"I lied, of course."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and went to join Murdock and Frankie.


	14. Annie Oakley

**Chapter Nine: Annie Oakley**

Her father took the news, or Amy's version of it, surprisingly well.

"Richard doesn't work in your news room, is involved in a crime you're investigating, and may be trying to get to you through us?"

"That about sums it up, Dad." Amy stared at the streetlight above her head. They were using a payphone on the edge of a huge supermarket parking lot twenty minutes drive from the house. Murdock was leaning against the side of the phone booth playing with a yo-yo and Frankie was keeping watch from the van. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before but the news about Atin and Chokro was a shock."

"I'm sorry about that dear," said her father. Amy couldn't read the tone of his voice. He sounded upset, certainly, but thoughtful. She wondered why. His next words supplied the answer.

"The A-Team, Amy. They aren't dead are they?"

Amy couldn't help smiling. "No, Dad. They aren't. How did you – "

"Word gets around. Are you with them now?"

She hesitated. "Yes. I am. I'm working this story with them."

She heard her father exhale. Then he surprised her. "Good."

"Good?"

"You'll be safe with them. I know your mother doesn't approve, but… maybe bring them by the house sometime when things cool down? I'd like to meet them."

Amy laughed out loud. "Sure Dad." She stopped laughing and shook her head. It was so good to hear her father's voice. She should bring the team to meet him when this was all over. Her father had served in Korea as an engineer and he and Hannibal would probably have a lot to talk about.

"Dad, you have to get out of there. Tonight. Tomorrow morning. Maybe go to Uncle Lou in Anaheim."

"I know. I'll try to talk your mother around. Explain things."

"Don't leave it up to her. She's stubborn, she'd probably rather stay and fight if it comes to that."

"She inherited it from her daughter," her father said fondly. Amy smiled.

"Love you Dad."

"You too. Be safe, sweetheart. Stick with the A-Team. They'll steer you through. Call us at Lou's when the dust clears, or if you need help."

She hung up and stood looking at the phone for a moment, enjoying the warm sensation that she always got from talking to her father.

"Dad wants to meet you all," she said to Murdock after a moment. "He's taking Mom to stay with my uncle in Anaheim."

"That went well," Murdock commented. "No shouted insults, no recriminations, no death threats, or even the smallest hint of dread."

"That's how you usually talk to your father?" Amy asked, smiling.

"That's Christmas at Grandma's house, minus the food poisoning and the house fire."

"House fire?"

He shrugged. "Want some ice cream? Or some sardines? The supermarket's open late tonight."

Amy nodded and they headed back to the van to collect Frankie.

When they hit the freezer section Murdock immediately seized a pint of strawberry and a pint of chocolate for himself. The surreality of choosing ice-cream at this moment in time was not lost on Amy. However, as Murdock had pointed out, ice cream restores sanity to a world gone crazy. He'd then professed a craving for bananas and took himself off to find some leaving Amy and Frankie to choose between vanilla and fudge.

"BA and Hannibal like chocolate," Frankie said. "We could get walnuts."

"Face prefers vanilla," Amy replied absently, reaching for both flavours.

"Huh." Frankie sounded satisfied. Amy looked at him.

"What?"

Frankie looked at her speculatively. "I have been wondering… you know… if you and Face, back in the day…"

Amy was glad the cold air coming from the freezer meant she didn't blush.

"We didn't," she answered decisively. "There was nothing. We worked together, that's all."

"Okay," Frankie replied. He didn't sound convinced but he grinned broadly and she knew he had agreed to drop it. He reached out to retrieve another pint of fudge and his hand brushed hers. She was suddenly conscious of him and the admiration in his face. It was not an unpleasant sensation. She gave him a sidelong smile.

"So," he said, straightening, "nothing between you and the Faceman?"

She hesitated, and shook her head. Nothing. Not now.

He looked pleased. "Well, alright then." He took the icecream from her and stacked it all carefully in the crook of his left arm. "Just wanted to say, you know… that thing finding out about the shipping company and all… that was smart."

She didn't reply. He stuck his free arm in hers and steered her away from the freezer section. She allowed herself to be escorted to find Murdock, mildly discomfited by Frankie's open regard. He was young – very young – and an unknown quantity, not to mention a fast mover. They found Murdock loading a basket with bananas and followed him to the checkout.

Frankie carried the shopping bags and Amy pushed the door open for him and for Murdock who was expounding at length on the health giving qualities of bananas.

"Bananas are amazingly good for you. Vitamin A, vitamin B, like the whole alphabet of vitamins and also calcium. I mean, look at monkeys. You ever see a monkey sneeze? No sir."

Amy chuckled. "Sure. Calcium. Especially when you have it with ice-cream, right?"

Murdock nodded earnestly. Amy noticed his eyes moving constantly, taking in every inch of the surrounding parking lot as he chattered animatedly in what she recognized was half babble and half an excuse to move around to get a better view of everything. There were still some cars around the lot, mostly clustered in the pools of yellow light cast by the tall streetlights, a few dimly reflected in the darker parts of the lot. When they were a scant forty feet from the safety of the van, Frankie's debate with Murdock on the nutritional value of bananas was cut short by one of these darkened cars roaring to life and squealing out of the shadows toward them.

"Go!" Murdock shouted, reaching back to pull Amy into a sprint. Frankie dropped the bags and took her other arm but she needed no persuading as a shot flashed from the car window and sent sparks off the asphalt at her feet. She ducked and flinched as another shot missed her head by a few cold inches to thunk into the side of the van. Murdock released her and threw himself to one side to avoid being hit as the silver sedan bore down on them and scattered them. Frankie pulled her to the other side and landed on top of her as she sprawled painfully to the ground, gravel digging into her through her dress. Frankie pushed himself up, and pulled her up after him, tugging her relentlessly toward the van. Murdock sprinted ahead of them and pulled the doors open, throwing himself in the passenger side and across into the driver's seat as the sedan swung around to come at them again. Again a shot rang out and Amy saw it thud into the van door just ahead of her, followed by a second. She heard the bark of a third just as Frankie pushed her into darkness of the van. She heard him cry out in pain as he tumbled in next to her and Murdock yelling imprecations as he sent the van hurtling out of the lot onto the wide street. She lurched up and pulled the side door closed as the van swung into traffic and wove between cars.

"Everyone okay back there?" Murdock called.

"I think Frankie's hit," Amy called back. Frankie groaned agreement.

"My arm, but not too bad I think."

He pulled himself into a seat. Amy fished around for the small first aid kit she knew was kept under the driver's seat. Wordlessly Murdock produced it and handed it back to her. She glanced at Frankie, who was clutching his left arm just below the shoulder then back at the driver.

"Following?" she asked breathlessly. He nodded, concentrating on the road ahead. She rocked back on her heels and sat in the seat opposite Frankie, tugging open the kit with trembling fingers and pulling out some gauze bandage.

"This is going to have to do until we get back to the house," she said to Frankie. "Let me see your arm."

He peeled his fingers away, revealing a ragged, bloody crease across his bicep. She grimaced. "Nasty, but not fatal."

"Frankie?" Murdock called back. Amy flashed Frankie a quick, reassuring smile.

"Hardly even a scratch," she replied.

"You hang in there amigo, just let Nurse Amy take care of you. Wouldn't be the first time she's done some patching in this van." Murdock laughed.

Amy turned back to Frankie who arched his brows at her suggestively. "Nurse Amy?"

She shook her head, exhilarated by their near escape, fear and adrenalin making her blood run fast and her hand shake as she ripped Frankie's sleeve away from his wound. He flinched as she began to wind the gauze around his upper arm.

Murdock was humming under his breath as he wove in and out of traffic lanes trying to lose their pursuers. Amy tied off the ends of the bandage.

"Thanks," said Frankie, patting his arm cautiously. Amy nodded at him, distracted. She left her seat and squeezed into the passenger seat beside Murdock.

"Still there?" she asked. He checked his mirror and nodded. "Persistent little dudes."

Beside his leg the car phone crackled suddenly, making Amy jump. Murdock laughed out loud. "Music to my ears, Princess!"

He picked up the receiver. "This is Howling Mad, who may I say is calling?"

"Murdock?" It was Hannibal. Amy could just make out the conversation and leaned across to hear better. "Been gone a while. Where are you?"

"Flying low down Reynolds, got a bogey on my tail. Sure appreciate some support here, Colonel."

"Right. Head back toward us." Amy imagined him in the kitchen, issuing orders over his shoulder. "We'll rendezvous at the corner of… Lamont and Sierra. There's a garage there."

"Got it. Lamont and Sierra. You bring the champagne, we'll bring the bad guys."

He hooked the receiver back into its cradle as the van lurched forward with a shriek of metal on metal. The sedan had rammed them from behind. Murdock swore softly.

"We're playing some fun games now, huh?" He switched lanes quickly and glanced at Amy. "Feel up to some target practice?"

She swallowed. It had been a long time since she had properly handled a gun, her escape from Jakarta notwithstanding. She nodded.

"Down the side of your seat, a Magnum. Should be loaded."

Amy pulled it out and checked. It was. She swallowed again and wound down her window. Murdock veered into another lane and hummed a few bars of Wagner under his breath.

"There you go. Comin' up your side, Amy. Aim for tyres, windscreen, engine, anything that'll slow them down. You know the drill."

"I know the drill," she replied. The gun felt heavy in her hands, awkward as she slipped the safety off. The sedan swerved into them again, knocking them from the side. Amy leaned her head out the window, and whipped it back in again as a bullet shattered the side mirror. Her blood roaring in her ears, she leaned out the window again and fired. Her shot went wild as the gun kicked in her hands. She'd forgotten how to do this. _I can't, oh God, I can't do this._ Yes, she could. She adjusted her grip, gritted her teeth and leaned out again. She plugged two shots into their windscreen, shattering it. The sedan pulled away, fell back a little. Murdock whooped and Frankie cheered. Amy let out a strangled noise that was almost a cheer. She gripped the handgun tightly and leaned out again. Her next shot went wild again.

"Uh hey," Frankie said. "You want me to do that?"

Amy shook her head. _Relax. Just shoot at them. _She inhaled, exhaled, and shot out their radiator grille as Murdock swung the van around a corner, then another one. They drove for what seemed like an age, screeching through two red light intersections, before Murdock grinned happily. Amy sat back and looked up ahead to where Murdock was pointing. She saw Face's Corvette in a side street and made out Face behind the wheel as they sped past him. She looked past Murdock into the side mirror on his side and saw the little white car swing out behind their pursuers. The car phone buzzed again.

"Nice of you to join us, handsome," Murdock drawled into the hand set.

"I'm just keeping you out of trouble," Face replied. Amy leaned over to listen in. "Hannibal and BA are up on the corner. Just keep going."

"Right." Murdock replaced the receiver and grinned at Amy. Frankie came and knelt just behind them.

"Good fun, huh?"

Amy shot him a sidelong look that, she hoped, plainly told him he was crazy, and gripped the Magnum tightly. The mirror on her side was gone, so she leaned out to see where the sedan was. It was just behind them.

If it moved just a little to the right, she could get a line of sight.

Like it had heard her thoughts, it swerved slightly to the right and she saw Face boxing them from behind. She took the advantage and squeezed off another shot, taking her time and lining it up, sending another bullet into their radiator, and then another thudding through the hood. She pulled her head back in, shocked that she had pulled it off. The sedan swerved, almost hitting the Corvette, as a gout of steam shot from under the hood and the engine made a horrible grinding noise that Amy could hear in the van. Murdock whooped again and Frankie squeezed her arm. She saw a blue Ford pickup slip out of a parking space on the corner and join the chase, boxing their pursuers in from behind as Face pulled in beside them. Amy heard a splatter of gunfire from behind them and figured Hannibal was finishing what she had started. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled slowly as there was a squeal of tyres as the silver sedan swerved off the road and collided with a parked car. Murdock hit the brakes and came to a stop. Amy peered out the window. Face and BA were hauling two men out of the sedan. The men could barely stand. Murdock reached over and took the gun out of Amy's hand, checked it, slipped the safety back on and slid it back into its holster.

"Good shooting, Annie Oakley!" He sounded jubilant and made a little victory sign at her. Frankie pulled the side door open and jumped out. He shouted a greeting to the others. Amy looked out again, feeling lightheaded and infected by Murdock's cheer. She had done it. Still not sure _how_ she had done it, she laughed and slapped Murdock's hand in a wobbly high five. The blood was still rushing through her when Frankie opened her door and she slid out onto the road. Face and BA had their two pursuers splayed across the boot of the trashed sedan. She could hear Hannibal using his reasonable voice on them, but couldn't make out his words. She started across the road, Frankie and Murdock catching her up halfway across.

"Hi guys, nice of you to join us," Murdock called. "Where'd you get the pickup?"

"Found it," BA said shortly, adjusting his grip on the man under his hands. "Thought we'd turn up to the party in style."

"I don't much like some of the guests," Face replied drily.

"Oh, I do," Hannibal said. "This fellow here was just about to tell me where I can visit his boss tomorrow."

He kicked the shin of the nearest goon, held by BA, and smiled at him. "Talk, fella."

The man cleared his throat and looked anxiously at BA before shaking his head. Hannibal looked away and smiled then suddenly lashed out and back-handed him across the face.

"Whoops, there I go, poor impulse control I guess." He adjusted his gloves. "Care to spill?"

Again the thug shook his head. Murdock strolled insouciantly into the mix and leaned in very close to the man, his expression dreamy and distant.

"You think _he's_ got poor impulse control, you should meet _me_. I'm the crazy one." Casually he ruffled the man's short hair then bent to run his tongue up the man's cheek in one long, lazy lick. "Mmm," he said, his face still dreamy. "You taste delicious… like pepperjack cheese… and chicken… and roasted peppers… and a rainbow."

The man twisted up his face when Murdock licked him again and commented, "Hey, guys, you should taste this. It's like a mind blowing quesadilla."

BA shook his prisoner. "I _love_ Mexican food, fool. Now you're making me hungry."

The thug in his grasp flinches. "Alright, Jesus, alright. I'll talk to you. Pull him off me."

His companion swore at him and struggled against Face's hold. Face smacked his head into the car and he subsided. The first man licked his lips nervously and, with a furtive glance and Murdock who was watching him from ten inches away and muttering like the Swedish Chef, told Hannibal where Cyrus Lestari could be found.

They left them tied firmly together to the axel of their ruined car. Hannibal made happy noises when he found a marker in the glove compartment of the pick up and carefully wrote Stockwell's contact phone number on each man's forehead. While he was chuckling and marking the numbers on, Face came over to Amy.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. Amy looked up at him. He hissed and reached out to touch her face.

"You split your lip again. You look like a prizefighter."

"Okay?" Frankie interrupted before she could reply. "She's just fine! Did you see her shooting?"

Face twisted around and saw the bullet holes, the shattered windscreen of the silver car. He turned back to Amy. "That was you?"

She nodded. Her lip was beginning to hurt. She must have split it again when she hit the asphalt in the parking lot.

Face turned back to her. "Why was it you? What was Frankie doing?"

"Why not me?" she asked, suddenly pugnacious. "I know which end to point at the bad guys."

"This is one cool lady, Face. One cool lady." Frankie slung his good arm around her shoulders. Face gave Frankie a blank look, then reached for Amy.

"C'mon. I'll give you a ride back." Sirens began to wail in the distant darkness.

"Let's split, guys," Hannibal called, giving the two thugs a few more kicks for good measure before heading to the Corvette. "Sirens."

Amy hesitated, and then shook her head. "No, it's okay. I'll ride back in the van with the others."

He opened his mouth to say something, but instead he smiled at her and nodded. "Sure." Then he turned and walked away.

"They know we're here," Hannibal said as he opened the front door and walked into the lounge room. With BA driving, the van had beaten the others back to the house, and Amy was re- dressing Frankie's arm when Hannibal and Face arrived.

"Reckon they picked us up at the airport without us knowing?" Murdock asked. Hannibal nodded, thoughtfully. "Reckon so. Interesting. We've thrown them off for now, but we need to relocate before they can get someone else onto us."

He turned to Face, who was closing the door behind them. "Lieutenant, how's your new pad coming along?"

Face hesitated. "It'll be a squeeze. It's not as big as this place."

"But it's so centrally located," Murdock said smoothly. "Entertainers balcony, views over the ocean, beach frontage – "

"One bathroom, one bed, one couch."

"We'll camp out," Frankie said with a grin at Amy. "Make a pillow fort."

"Sure," Murdock added, "We can braid each others' hair and tell ghost stories."

Face groaned, knowing he was beaten. "Well I have no food in the kitchen."

Hannibal grinned. "We just need a place to bed down. Murdock, provisions; BA, weapons; Amy, pack your notes and anything else you might need. Frankie, when you're quite finished playing the invalid, help Face round up anything he doesn't have that we'll need."

Amy fastened her dressing down and patted it. "All done."

Frankie smiled up at her. "Thanks Nurse Amy."

"Nurse Amy?" Face asked. Amy gave him her cool smile, the effect somewhat lessened by her split lip.

"Don't want to know," Hannibal said, shaking his head, an amused expression on his face. BA pushed past him and headed for the kitchen with Murdock. Amy was conscious of the jetlagged exhaustion seeping into her bones, aware that adrenalin was the only thing keeping her moving. As she moved upstairs to retrieve her case, she hoped she would be able to sleep tonight. She shoved her things into it and zipped it shut before lugging it down the stairs, glad her box had not made it upstairs. She set her case by the front door as Murdock and Frankie walked past carrying the contents of the fridge. She went to the dining room to her notes and began to pack them carefully and quickly away, leaving her information on Perkasa and Richard on the top. It took under a minute. She sealed the box, hefted it into her arms and went to place it by her case. Hannibal and BA were standing by her things, looking contemplative. BA held a small box with an antenna coming from the top and a dial and display on the front. He was frowning.

"Got a signal, Hannibal. Definitely a transmitter in there somewhere."

"Maybe the airport? Baggage handlers in Jakarta?" Hannibal theorized. BA nodded. Amy shook her head.

"And what now?"

BA looked at her. "Top of the stairs to the right, there's a closet. There's another suitcase."

Amy nodded wearily and didn't argue as the big man knelt by her case and flipped out his pocket knife. As she returned with the new suitcase – obviously one abandoned by one of the team at some point – he was delicately stacking her underwear beside her shoes.

"Uh, BA?" she said, swiftly picking up her clothing and shoving it into the other suitcase. He didn't look up, intent on his work, and she figured that he probably hadn't even noticed that he was handling her lingerie. The case emptied, he ran his fingertips over the interior until he felt what he was looking for. Amy zipped up her new case as he suddenly found a small slit in the lining, enlarged it until he could fit his hand in and fished in the base of the case. Nodding, he pulled out a small silver object and held it up to Hannibal. Hannibal took it and raised an eyebrow.

"Hey Amy," he said, grinning suddenly. "I think we should send these guys on a little trip." He looked at BA, who returned his grin. The others returned from the van, questions at the ready, as BA returned from the kitchen with a stamped envelope. Hannibal slipped the device inside, sealed the envelope and wrote an address on the front. Amy caught the words "Langley" and "Virginia" as he tucked it into his jacket. He picked up her old case, eyebrows raised. She shook her head. No, she definitely didn't want it now.

It took the A-Team ten minutes to pack and hit the road and, when a dark sedan pulled up across the road from the house half an hour later, the lights were out and the driveway was empty. Hannibal stopped at a mail box and posted his letter and chuckled for a full minute after the van started to move again.

Face's condo was as small as he had claimed. Amy barely registered her surroundings as she deposited a bag of food onto the kitchen counter and an armful of blankets onto the red three-seater in the living area. The rest of the team entered behind her, and she flopped down on top of the blankets.

"Well," said Face, gesturing around, "_mi casa es su casa_. Just, don't spill anything. Or burn anything."

BA harrumphed. "Like we're gonna burn your house down, Face." He pushed open a window and Amy caught the tang of ocean salt but couldn't make out the water in the darkness. She yawned hugely, wincing as it hurt her lip, then looked around at the others. They had paused and were looking at her. Suddenly self-conscious, she ran a hand over her hair and her lip.

"What?"

"I guess we're all kind of tired." Frankie sounded sympathetic.

"You should get some sleep, chiquita," Murdock said. Amy couldn't agree more. He pointed. "The bedroom's through there."

"Uh," Face objected. Amy was too tired to argue.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she said, surprised by the waspishness in her tone.

"I just meant – I'll just grab a pillow," Face said quickly. Amy shook her head but he came over to her and pulled her up. The other began to organize themselves around her, bedding down on chairs and the floor and the couch.

"Come on," Face said, taking her elbow and tugging her toward the bedroom. His wide expanse of bed, covered with a smooth blue bedspread, looked so inviting Amy nearly sank onto it as soon as she saw it.

"Well," he said, "here you go. I'll get some sheets."

"No, it's okay." She caught his arm as he turned, swaying on her feet. He gave her a little push and she sat on the edge of the bed.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?" she asked, aware of how soft the pillows looked. Face followed her gaze and smiled. "Go to the shipping offices. Beat the bad guys. Maybe take in a show."

"Sure. What time's breakfast?"

He looked pointedly at the pillows, then leaned over and took one of them for himself.

"Good night, Amy."

She reached for his hand without any awareness of reaching. He hesitated and ran his thumb over her knuckles. Then he fumbled out of her grasp and stood awkwardly for a moment before turning away.

He switched off the light on his way out and closed the door carefully behind him.


	15. Past Midnight

**Well hey, y'all, did you think I'd forgotten you? Sadly the fanfiction had to take a back set to career changes and a Masters degree but, as you can see, we're back in business! **

**Enjoy. **

**H.**

**Past Midnight**

The look on her face when she had seen the surveillance picture of Ramelan had forced him to stay still, almost sit on his hands. As it ever had been with him looking at other people, it was her vulnerabilities that took him by surprise. He often forgot that other people had them in places he had never thought to exploit.

Amy had never really seemed vulnerable. The image of her, smiling through her split lip, flushed with Jazz and victory after shooting up the goons' car stayed with him for a little while after he had walked away from her. Involuntarily he remembered her in that blue dress in Mexico, fluffing her hair and slinking into the cantina without a backward glance. After five years he could still recall the scene - although, to be honest, it wasn't the first time in the last five years he'd thought about it. Or the second time. Or the twentieth.

Not for the first time, he wished that Hannibal let them kill people. The sensation washed over him too quickly for him to have to think about its implications.

BA and Murdock had pointedly avoided bedding down on the couch, heaping cushions onto the carpet instead, and Face headed for the recliner. With a quick, dark glance at the rest of the team, Hannibal sighed and stretched out on the couch with a stifled groan. From the corner of his eye, Face spotted Frankie settling into the other chair with worried expression. No one wanted to mention it – or believe it – but Hannibal had been slowing down a little lately and Face had noticed a tiny roll to the Colonel's step sometimes. It was to be expected – Hannibal wasn't a young man any longer and he had lived pretty hard inside his skin.

Face rose and crossed to the light switch to turn out the light. He paused beside the couch and quietly cleared his throat. Hannibal opened his eyes and looked up at him. Face nodded subtly toward the bathroom with a small frown. Hannibal glared at him. Face nodded toward the bathroom again, less subtle. A few months ago Hannibal had finally given in and seen a doctor who had prescribed him a painkiller for when his knee was stiff and bothering him. Hannibal had refused to take them and Face had quietly slipped them into his own bathroom cabinet. Hannibal was at his condo fairly often anyway and he could usually talk him into taking one if the pain got bad.

Hannibal closed his eyes, looking like he was ignoring his lieutenant in a very pointed way. Face sighed in frustration and turned off the light.

It took a few minutes but finally he heard Hannibal get up and head to the bathroom. He listened to the light switch on and the rattle of a bottle of pills then he sat up and twisted around in the recliner to peer across the back down the hall to the rectangle of light that was the door to his bathroom. Hannibal loomed darkly in the doorway before he turned off the light, looking down at his hands. Face saw him shake his head and the expression on the older man's face made him quickly turn around and sit back down, close his eyes and feign sleep. He made no sound or movement as Hannibal settled himself on the couch again.

Face lay for some time in the darkness, trying to sleep, listening to the breathing of the others become regular with sleep. Again, he thought of Amy. He was dismayed to find his thoughts straying in her direction and was discomforted when the image of her in that blue dress was replaced by the memory of the sensation of her hand in his when he had put her to bed hours earlier. He sighed and tried to turn over, hampered by the space in the chair. He had resigned himself to a long and less than comfortable night when he heard a familiar hitch in Murdock's usually even breathing followed by the quietest of whimpers. He opened his eyes and looked over at Murdock who had stretched out a few feet from BA on the floor in front of the window. The nightmares were much less frequent now – they had been so frequent in the early years that Hannibal had ordered that Murdock should never sleep alone – but they still occasionally arose to remind the others of the past. Face pushed himself up and prepared to rise, to cross the room and calm his friend but he saw BA's bulk shift purposefully as the big man turned over and laid a meaty hand on Murdock's shoulder.

Face heard him mutter something softly that sounded suspiciously like "Quit your damn yammering", but whatever it was, it had the desired effect and Murdock went quiet. BA patted Murdock's shoulder a few times, making sure the other man was sleeping peacefully before rolling over again back to his own space and slumber. Face lay back, feeling suddenly much more comfortable.

As always, it was the vulnerability of others that truly surprised him.


	16. Triangle

**Chapter Ten: Triangle**

Once again, Amy Allen awoke to hear the A-Team in the next room. She remembered doing the same thing a few days ago her tiny apartment in Jakarta. She felt a twist of misery in her chest as she thought of everything she had left behind and everything that had changed beyond comprehension. Sunshine was bursting into the bedroom through the uncovered window, forcing her to open her eyes and wake up. She knew Face usually rose with the sun and probably hadn't bothered with a blind. She could hear the guys talking, but not what they were saying, and the crashing of surf on the beach below the condo. She turned away from the sunshine, tried to keep her eyes closed, pulled the covers over her head, groaning, and realized they carried the scent of Face's cologne. Today they were going to begin their campaign against Richard – against Lestari and Richard, she corrected herself – and she momentarily and very sincerely wished she could just sleep through it.

When she did rise a few minutes later, she pulled on some clean underwear from her case. The sun was warm on her skin as she sat on the edge of Face's bed, waiting for her brain to catch up with her body and wake up. The bedroom was large, with wardrobes along most of the wall next to the door, and a blue lamp on each bedside table. A new looking novel was open, spine up, on the table nearest her and she picked it up and made a surprised noise. On the cover was a picture of three men in camouflage gear and a woman in a tattered looking suit, the skirt improbably short, with the silhouette of a helicopter in the background. Large yellow letters declared the title to be "Alpha Unit: M.I.A.". Amy had to look twice at the author's name: Tawnia Leftcourt. She blinked and read it again. Tawnia had written a novel? It had been a long time since she'd heard from her, but you'd think she might have taken the time to share something like this. She turned it over in her hands but before she could read the blurb, there was a quiet knock at the door.

"Amy? You up?" It sounded like Frankie.

"Yes, I'm up," she called, abandoning the novel and standing up. Her case was beside the bed. She knelt in front of it and began to pull out some clean clothes. She stood just as Frankie poked his head into the room, and let out an embarrassed yelp. He flinched and slapped a hand in front of his eyes.

"Uh, sorry." He grinned a wide, vulpine grin, still covering his eyes. "Not that I mind."

"Well I do." She threw a pillow at him. It hit the door as it closed.

"Breakfast is ready," he called from behind it. She tugged on her jeans and a clean shirt, cheeks flaming, not able to keep away a tiny, amused smile.

She pulled the door open, half expecting to see Frankie's face on the other side. Instead she saw Face in the kitchen, looking tousled and half asleep, and evidence of the others having slept on chairs and couch and floor. He turned and smiled.

"Morning," he said. "Sleep well?" Amy smiled at him.

"Nice bed."

"Yeah," he said, screwing the lid back on a bottle of orange juice. "I like it."

"When did Tawnia write a novel?" she demanded. Face looked up in surprise.

"It was published last year. Long story." He took another glass from the cupboard. "Want some juice? Full of vitamins, minerals and fibre. " He held up the bottle, blinding her with his salesman's sincerity. She shook her head and screwed up her face. She'd never liked it. He shrugged. "Alright. Toast?"

"And coffee." She nodded just as Frankie came up behind her and took her arms, propelling her toward the patio doors.

"Breakfast a la the Frankman," he said. "An apology for catching you in your lingerie."

"Like it was an accident," Amy heard Face mutter as Frankie swept her past him and out into the dazzlingly bright sun. The others were sitting around a small wooden table on a nice deck overlooking a stretch of beach. Amy was taken aback, and twisted to look at the condo behind her. Face had a really nice place. Of course, she would never have really expected anything else. Frankie ostentatiously seated her in a patio chair and laid a tea towel in her lap in place of a napkin. He set a glass of orange juice in front of her.

"For madame," he said with a grin. She looked at the others.

"Thanks," she said to Frankie. "But, I'd really just like some…"

"Toast?" Face murmured smoothly, as he placed a plate in front of her. He caught her gaze and gave her a small smile. As she returned it, she felt a small, familiar tug in her chest. He slid into the empty chair next to her just as Frankie was about to take it. Frankie gaped at Face, who didn't look at him, instead reaching for Amy's orange juice and exchanging it for a cup of coffee. After a moment Frankie slid, disgruntled, into the last empty seat between Hannibal and BA.

Hannibal sighed. "If you three are quite finished there, we have some scheming to do."

Amy picked up a piece of toast, glad of the distraction.

"Right," Hannibal continued. "We know where the Brady Palms offices are. Face and I are going to go there today and find out when this lot of carpet samples is due to arrive. BA, Frankie, head out to the address that our slimy friend gave us last night. No contact, just surveillance. See if it checks out. Murdock and Amy stay here." He held up his hand to forestall her objection as she opened her mouth. "You're our ace in the hole here, Amy. You can't come anywhere near this thing until we need you. Besides, there's a contract out on you, and we don't want anyone collecting."

Amy swallowed another objection. He had a point, as much as it irked her.

"How come Murdock gets to stay behind?" Frankie asked. "I'm the one with the injury."

"Amy and I started this Scrabble game years ago," Murdock replied smoothly. "We're gonna pick it up again. I'm just about to put down 'pancreas' as a triple word score."

"There you go then," Hannibal said to Frankie. "Take the van. Be invisible." He glanced at his watch. "We set out in half an hour. I have to get some make-up on."

The phone rang inside the condo. Face glanced at his watch. "Oh damn. Ellen. We were supposed to catch up for breakfast today."

"Tell her I said hey," Murdock said with a grin. Face waved him off and went inside. Amy watched him go, wondering whether Ellen knew about Charlene the answering service, and if either of them knew about Caroline the air hostess.

Half an hour later they were gone. BA and Frankie had sped off in the van, promising to bring home burgers for an early lunch. Hannibal and Face had scrubbed up and put on some nice suits, Hannibal sporting a moustache and a good tan. "I don't really need the disguise, you understand," he commented to Amy as she helped him get an even tan coverage on the back of his neck and his hands. "It's been a while since my face has been anywhere public." He screwed the lid back on the tube of make-up and carefully applied his moustache. "Straight?"

She nodded.

He checked himself in the mirror and brushed something through his eyebrows. "It's just fun. And lighter than latex."

Amy quirked a grin. "Did you really leave in the middle of a movie?"

Hannibal shook his head. "TV show. One of those true encounters with monsters things. I was playing Bigfoot in a modified gorilla suit. Very undignified. No pathos."

"Well, thanks for coming after me anyway."

Hannibal stood and slipped on his suit jacket, adding a Stetson. He winked at her.

"Frankly my dear, one must be kind to the ladies," he drawled. Amy screwed up her face.

"Lose the accent."

He looked disappointed. "Too much?"

Face emerged from the bathroom with Murdock in tow. "Yes, you sound like a reject extra from Gone With The Wind. How's my tie?"

Amy reached over and straightened the knot. "Gorgeous." He shot her a distracted smile.

"Take care of Murdock while we're gone. We shouldn't be more than a few hours." He pulled on a shoulder rig, slipped his Beretta into it, slung his jacket over his shoulders and winked at her.

"Done. Alright _Earl, _shall we go?"

Amy rinsed the breakfast dishes in the sink to keep her hands busy. As much as Hannibal had a point about needing to keep her under wraps for the moment, she hated to be left behind. She could still pull a good con and last night had reminded her of how she used to feel when she ran with the team. Murdock was out on the deck, gazing intently out to sea, when she joined him. She had snagged Face's novel from his bedside table to read. Murdock glanced up at her and at the novel.

"Alpha Unit. I loaned him that. Don't, you know, fold the pages. I hate that."

"Sure." She settled down beside him and put the book on the table. "What's the story with the novel? Tawnia never told me."

"Long story," he replied. "Something about plausible deniability. I never paid attention to the rest. Fun story though."

Amy made a mental note to contact Tawnia in the near future. "Sorry to keep you on babysitting duty."

He shrugged with a grin. "I don't mind. You, me, Alpha Unit, the sea. Who could ask for a nicer holiday?"

"Nice setting as well." Amy glanced over her shoulder at the condo. "Face has done well for himself."

"Face always does," Murdock replied, still staring at the sea. "He's like a seagull."

"A seagull?" Amy asked. Murdock didn't expand or reply. She let it go and picked up the book, thumbing through the first few pages.

"So, Murdock, what's the deal with Frankie? I mean, I get that Stockwell forced him in with you, but now?"

Murdock squinted out at the waves and then at Amy. "Frankie? He's okay by me. He was on set with Hannibal with the call came. He likes to tag along sometimes."

Amy nodded, satisfied, and opened the book, sitting back and scanning the first page.

"One of the advantages of being crazy… or formerly crazy," Murdock said suddenly, loudly, "is that you can always see the crazy in other people."

Amy looked up. "I can see how that would be the case."

Murdock frowned at her. "To put it plainly, what are your intentions, Miss Allen?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Intentions?"

He nodded. "Yes. Intentions."

"Huh?"

"Ah." Murdock nodded again and crossed his long legs. "That answers that question then."

Amy was at a loss, but had a sneaking feeling she had just given away a lot more than she meant to.

"Murdock, speak plainly. What are you asking me?"

He looked at her speculatively for a moment, pursing his lips. "Don't try to kid a formerly crazy person, Amy. It makes us set fire to things. When Stockwell told him you were in danger Faceman nearly flipped out. Oh, he was real subtle about it, see, didn't want anyone to know, but – like I said – crazy sees crazy."

Amy was at a loss for words for a moment. Murdock went on.

"You were the bait for us too, see? Hannibal would never have taken the job if Stockwell hadn't told us you were involved." Murdock squinted at the sunshine on the waves. "It could only be something as big as that to make him even look at Stockwell twice." He fell silent.

"So Face was upset when he found out I was in trouble?" Amy asked again, trying to prompt him into finishing his line of thought. Murdock nodded. He crossed his legs and stroked an imaginary beard.

"Hmm, alright, Mizz Allen," he said in a twisted German accent, "and now ve vill discuss your relationship viz your fazzer. Und zen ve vill draw some inkblots and test each ozzer."

Amy put the book on the table and stood up. "Is there a point to this or have you wandered off somewhere?"

He didn't reply right away, and she turned away to walk into the house, her heart in her throat. She had left her infatuation behind her. She shook her head. No. Murdock's comment about Face's reaction to her situation meant nothing. Not with both Ellen and Charlene in the picture. Not with how things stood now and who they had both become in the last few years.

"See," said Murdock suddenly as she took a step away from him. "It's like this. I look out for him. Like when we found out about his Dad and Ellen."

"Ellen?"

"Yeah, his sister… Oh, uh… I bet he didn't tell you about that. He's found his sister and his Dad."

"His father?" Amy blinked and was again at a loss for words. In all the catching up that had occurred, Face had never once mentioned anything as momentous as this.

"Who's his – "

"Daddy?" Murdock frowned. "A. J. Bancroft."

Amy thought for a moment. Why was that name… "Oh! You mean – "

"Yup. And before you say it, yes, shifty runs in the family."

"No wonder he didn't mention it." Amy thought of her own father - solid, law-abiding, and hopefully safely arrived at his brother's house in Anaheim. She'd die if she found out he had a past even half as sordid as she could recall Bancroft's as being. But, she supposed, for Face to find out anything about his father, no matter who he might be…

"Okay, so you look out for him. Why the twenty questions?"

Murdock shuffled his feet on the decking and picked up the book, placing it at a careful right angle to the corner of the table. "I just look out for him, like I said."

Amy grinned humourlessly but didn't look at him. "It's complicated, I guess." She sighed. "I don't know what's going on here, Murdock, and that's the truth. Everything's just kind of exploded the past few days. Apart from the plane trip, this is really the first chance I've had to stop and relax long enough to think anything over."

Murdock stood up and squinted down at her. "Well, you think as much as you want."

Amy grimaced. "It's been five years since I've seen you guys. It's kind of a long time, you know."

He didn't change his expression but sounded thoughtful. "Depends on the time scale don't it? I mean, a fruit fly lives for a few crazy days but it takes a hundred years for a glacier to move an inch. Glaciers are more interesting than fruit flies. They've got mammoths and stuff, you know, which is pretty rad."

"What about Charlene?" She had to ask. "And all the others?"

He looked at her steadily. "Face will be Face. His disorders could send a psychiatrist's kid through college – but the last few years, he's been looking for something else. I know Faceman like I know myselves."

Amy looked up at him. "Something else?"

Murdock nodded. "We can stop running now, see?"

She did see. Murdock left her alone after that and she went inside and read for a few hours until she heard a car pull up outside.


End file.
